Trail Ride
I squeeze in on the horse’s side,
spurring the mustang to a trot,
he makes his way on this trail ride,
up a hill to a sunny spot.
Three others are along with me,
two strangers and guide, the owner,
there blows a subtle, cooling breeze,
the guide cracks a joke, a groaner.
We reach a fine, sweeping view-point,
the Catskills roll out to the south,
my horse is acting out-of-joint,
grasps some undergrowth in his mouth.
Lift his head so he gets no more,
shouldn’t be eating with his bit,
then shift my weight, my legs are sore,
tomorrow I will pay for this.
But right now I don’t really care,
in fact I’d rather like to stay,
back of a horse, good for the soul,
to use a Churchill paraphrase.
We ride down, the rhythmic motion
always puts me into a trance,
come to a flat, wish I could run,
but I don’t think I’ll get the chance.
The strangers are new to riding,
they’re awkward just sitting up straight,
if the horses went a-flying
they’d be tossed clear off from the gait.
Work our way through a big spruce wave,
birds flitter about in the boughs,
enter a field with fresh-cut hay,
scattered in bales across the ground.
Leisurely through a high ravine,
where shadows fall upon our face,
looks kind of like a spooky dream,
a dark, moss-bound, and haunted place.
A deer looks up from where he feeds,
cocks his head, looking all confused,
the smell of human, he should flee!
But then they smell like horses too?
Pass him by, then ride ‘round a curve,
I can see a familiar barn,
guide says,”Now, it’s back to the world,”
as I look to my beat-up car.
I frown at the sight of hard steel,
these rides never seem all that long,
sorely tempted to kick my heels,
take the horse, keep ambling on…
Copyright © David Welch | Year Posted 2018
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