Friday, April 11, 2014

Posting Along

Posting Along

I ride an old horse
as best I can warmer days
as I watch the road
crack open beneath
the clip clop of trotting hooves.

Day is done, sun gone
down, the afterglow
is just beginning to fade.
This is fine with me.
My work too is done.
I am laying down last words.
That is what I do.

I call on people,
hold them close for no reason.
I smile at the moon
with no plans at all.
The goddesses give me songs.
Daddy god conducts.

‎April ‎11, ‎2014 2:09 PM

Written in part as a reply to Irene's Not Your Body

I spent a summer at a camp in the hills east of Santa Cruz, California. This was the summer of 1958. I was headed into eighth grade, my sister into sixth and mom and dad were earning our presence in this camp by being counselors there. We were moving after that summer to Santa Clara where my dad was going to be a brand new Vice Principle in a high school and my mom was going to teach English in another high school nearby.

It was at that summer camp I had my introduction to horses and learned to ride. That's why posting is part of my vocabulary. We rode English saddle, mostly but Western saddle as well. They were training us as broadly as an eight week experience would permit. I loved being able to join with the horse in his, or more usually for me, her rhythm. I remember I had a favorite horse, Nugget. They wouldn't let me ride her all that much because part of the training was to become familiar with many different horses and learn many different gaits.

Since I never rode again in my life, I guess the training was not very important as a skill set overall. However, I remember horses very well and I remember very little else from that camp experience. I go into my memory and find there I love Nugget as much as any cat I have ever known and more than most people too. It is easier to love the four footed. They are less conflicted.

That camp is still going strong but perhaps is not the same as it was then. Here is Kennolyn Camps, Soquel, Ca.

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