Posts Tagged ‘snow’

Day Dreaming

Summer seems so far away

The trees are so green
And they’re waving at me.
The sun beating down
Is a warm reverie.

Mild winds blow ‘cross my face,
And dance through my mane.
Apple bobbing is fun —
Can we do it again!

So lush is the grass,
And the sky is so blue.
The birds sing so sweet
What they sing must be true.

And the scent of the hay
Freshly cut is a dream.
I’m soaking it in when
Things aren’t as they seem.

“Hi Bear!”

The door opens wide.
The snow’s blowing in.
Mom’s in her old parka.
I know where I’ve been.

Dreaming of summer
And all its repose.
When the winter’s this dreary
That’s where my mind goes.

* * *

I know I’m not the only one that day dreams about summer, especially on days like this when the snow’s coming in sideways and the temperature is too frigid to think about. Frosticles on my whiskers tickle my nose and snow wedges around my toes, even with snow pads on, make it tricky to move around. The blankets shift when I roll and the ground is slippery and not suitable for rough housing with Sam. So, it’s dreary, and my mind imagines the winds 20 degrees warmer, and the sun beating down on my bare back, and apples bobbing in the unfrozen water trough, and as much grass as I can eat and little birds telling me about their winter travels while perched on my back and … well … you get  my drift.

The only things that make this at all tolerable are communing with the scribe, my regular work schedule and all the lovely treats in which I get to indulge. Oh yes, and nightly barn banter.

But when I’m on my own and snuggled in my blankies in my warm stall chowing down on sweet hay my mind drifts to summer. Doesn’t yours?

See you next time in Poet’s Paddock …

Shakespeare “The Equine”

Copyright Aimwell Enterprises 2011

Pretty Snowflakes

Pretty snowflakes falling free,
Big and fluffy as can be,
White and icy crystals all,
Don’t you know it’s still the Fall?
Pretty snowflakes in the sky,
Soon in a blanket you will lie
Upon my paddock green no more
Will I find grass I can adore.
Pretty snowflakes everywhere
Floating like you have no care.
In my eyes and up my nose
And places you would not suppose.
Pretty snowflakes how we play
Though you have turned the skies to grey.
I buck and squeal; you silent chase.
Together winter we embrace.
Pretty snowflakes on the ground,
Everywhere I look you’re found.
Surely you know when to quit.
It’s almost time for mom’s visit.
Pretty snowflakes that’s enough.
I’ve had it with all this white stuff.
I want to see my mom today
We’ve had our fun, now go away.

* * *

Who doesn’t love the first snowfall?

The gentle snowflakes wafting on a winter wind and cascading quietly to engage with an anxiously awaiting Earth are such a novelty. And to run; to chase; to play with Sam, my paddock buddy, across the fluffy mounds of white stuff … boy, I feel like a foal again. Everything is such a delight!

The snow is also the first invitation to hibernate; to chill. It’s when mom pulls out my warm winter blankies and I can be toasty and warm in my cool stall at night, and protected against the inclement conditions outside during the day. Beautiful piles of plentiful hay are mine for the eating and winter tales are bandied about the barn at night as the herd and I all drift off to sleep. Yes, it is a cosy, romantic, time — that first snowfall.

Then soon harsh reality sets in as I and the rest of the herd realize that the first snowfall leads to a second and a third and … well, it’s not romantic anymore, is it? I get tired of wearing blankets; of slipping on icy spots. Suddenly I notice when my ears are cold, or the water trough is frozen over, or there are snowballs wedged in my shoes … all things I ignore with the novelty of the first snowfall.

And then I am downright annoyed if the white fluffy stuff gets in the way of my mother’s daily ministrations, which it does from time to time. This is just not done!

So, pretty snowflakes are lovely for a while, and then I wish they’d just go away.

Only three and a half months until Spring …

See you anon,

Shakespeare “The Equine”

Copyright Aimwell Enterprises 2010