THE SKOOG FARM JOURNAL: MORNING SUN

Sunday, August 31, 2008

MORNING SUN

Chilly with fog down to the ground. In no time, the sun burned it off and the day is beautiful.

2 comments:

Ken Mac said...: Thanks for visiting my site and the nice comments. It is my dream to live on a small farm in rural NY! I write for several music magazines...thanks for asking. Love your critters!; August 31, 2008 at 10:23 AM
CoyoteFe said...: Lori - the photo with the tree fence and structure is excellent! I say structure because where I come from, one would think it is a doghouse, but since this is SkoogLand, it's probably a chipmunk house, or peacock bordello, or somesuch!; August 31, 2008 at 12:49 PM

FROM GREY HORSE MATTERS...

Where to Bury a Horse

If you bury him in this spot,
the secret of which you must already have,
he will come to you when you call;
come to you over the far, dim pastures of death.

And though you ride other living horses through life,
they shall not shy at him, nor resent his coming,
For he is yours, and he belongs there.

People may scoff at you, who see no lightest blade of grass
bent by his footfall,
who hear no nicker pitched too fine for insensitive ears.
People who may never really love a horse.

Smile at them then, for you shall know something
that is hidden from them
and which is well worth the knowing
The one place to bury a horse is in the heart of his master.

Thank you, Grey Horse Matters.

Poem for Masterpiece

Masterpiece of '79

He was a dark bay Masterpiece.

Deep chocolate brown

With small coal tipped ears

And three snowy white socks.

An eraser smudge of white

Above his eye

And a star connected to a blaze

Starting narrow and funneling wide

To wrap his lips

in a kiss.

He lived with dignity and joy;

A Masterpiece blend

of longevity

And temperament.

Appaloosa for soundness,

Thoroughbred for heart, and

Quarter Horse for sensible intelligence.

Although he is gone

His Masterpiece remains

In the memory of Jen

Who found and rode him;

And of Lori

Who soaked his beet pulp

And his sore feet,

Who loved him and,

When it was time,

Let him go.

Poem by Annette from Aspen Meadows.
Thank you.....

Followers

Sunday, August 31, 2008

MORNING SUN

2 comments: