Hooves pound the earth in
Rhythms rushing through my blood
As I run along
Now silence rules where she ran
Yet still I listen in vain
I wrote this tanka last night, after coming across a photo of our lovely Kyra. She was a pitch black Belgian Draught horse, and she was beautiful. Inside and out.
She could be running a hundred meters away, and you'd still feel the pounding of her hoofbeat vibrating through the ground. Her power was awe-inspiring, but she was an gentle soul at heart. After suffering abuse from her former owner, she was shy and had a hard time learning to trust us. She never did let us ride her. That was a privilege reserved only for children, but she'd run alongside us, and the drum of her feet pounding through the soles of my boots is still one of my most tangible memories of her.
After writing that poem, I wanted to paint her as I remember her, but those memories are beginning to fade, which is why the painting is as it is. Faded. Like my last matching poem and painting, I wrote a post about the painting, and the steps I took. You can read more about that over here
As always, a big thank you to @jrswab and @geke for holding my hand as I venture into the scary world of poetry, and an equally big thank you to the huge family I've got over at the Writer's Block. I would be nowhere without the engouragement and support of all of you. This time, I also owe a big thank you to @vachemorte, whose music provided me with an amazing soundtrack to paint to. I still need something to distract my mind while my hands paint, you see.
And thank you, friend, for sharing this with me.
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