Ignored by Horses

As I turn the wheel

the car faces eastward.

I search for them,

but drenching sunlight

showers the windshield.

In an awkward attempt

to deflect sudden blindness,

I jerk the visor down.

Squinting, my vision is reclaimed,

and like a reflex,

I scan right to the meadow.

They are there.

Mist billows from the earth

like breath exhaled on a winter’s day.

The horses, immense and silent,

are ships gliding through the fog.

Edging closer,

they press the railings of their boundary.

Snorted vapor,

purged from huge nostrils,

curls and eddies upwards.

Thick tails of coarse hair

instinctively switch at flies not yet present.

I slow the car and watch them.

They stare, luminous eyes of liquid brown

observing, but ignoring my passage.

Instead, they gaze longingly

just beyond the fence’s edge

at a long row of coiled weathered haystacks

as if they were cinnamon buns

in a bakery window.

And so we begin

another misty morning

that will clear and harden

with the sun’s rising.

Me, toiling at my chosen labor,

they, nobly rambling the meadows

well aware of their regal grandeur,

and affording passerbys a glance

with haughty disregard.

Rose Steedley Williams

©Southernstoryteller

~1998

Back in 1998 I worked as a nanny for a wealthy couple who lived out in the country. Every morning, on my way to work, I would ride past a field with beautiful horses who seemed to be oblivious to me...yet, I was mesmerized by them.


 I finally wrote this poem about them...but unfortunately never got around to taking their photos. These photos are from a ride in the country not to long ago, so there is no misty fog as the poem says, and...not the same horses, but they will do :)