An Off-track Confabulation

 

grazing horsesForest green hills slope away to valleys

disappearing . . .

Meandering rails of split wood wander aimlessly

out of sight . . .

Breezes caress deep grassy pastures

(wildflowers tossing their glorious tresses)

where stately heads bow to their foraging work.

So much grass (can’t miss a blade),

so little time.

Glossy coats glisten in the sun

automated horse-hair flyswatters set to swish

intermittently;

turn together, surge ahead–

no trumpets call, no bells sound,┬ábut–

“They’re off!”

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