Many years ago, we were lucky enough to loan a dapple grey Welsh gelding called Ollie, who was a real sweetie. One summer’s night, we took my Mum and Dad for a walk to our field to see him, and I still remember vividly what a wonderful experience it was. I don’t often lapse into poetry, but did pen some free verse on the occasion. It’s a little fossil of a lovely moment in time, preserved for over 20 years! I’m not giving up the day job though.
The full moon hangs serene
in a star-filled June evening;
shining brightly on the fields,
casting ink-black shadows on tussocky grass;
picking out a bone-white tracery
of weed-stalks and seed-heads.
We walk quietly in warm, still air,
wild honeysuckle’s swoony perfume
drifting heavily down from the hedge-tops.
We talk softly and listen intently
to the myriad tiny noises of a summer night:
insects chirrup, voles scuffle, and bats flitter.
Ollie ambles from under a tree,
curious to see who disturbs his nocturnal grazing.
The moon strikes his pale summer coat,
and he almost glows –
daytime’s grey pony transmuted
into a shining silver horse
by Selene’s alchemy.