First Frost

birds steel
against the drawing
curtain of
thin winter’s veil,

it pools
across quarters,
shutters fields
where horses gather

while few
remorseful leaves
remain, withered still
on stark limb

too soon this
hard frost portends of
sheltering days ahead
but for now

there is only
this skiff of the
mercurial, dancing
across silvered grain

and grasses bathed,
mustering icy breath
over a stiff
white prairie

a thick coat
of plucky courage
blooms over
a sorrel landscape

where cresting
heated withers,
scent of musk and
grip of flank

ambles out,
breaking into a canter
along a stretching
road that reaches,

from this place
to the sea

Barbara, October 25, 2015

ever,

Smidge