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”
The Life and Times of Shakespeare "The Equine" 