I am a small child.
Strong hands lift me over fresh spring grasses
Into the horse's saddle.
I smell daffodils and water running over glacial stones.

My mother rides behind me.
The horse begins to walk.
I yell Giddyup and my mother is afraid.
I laugh a child's laugh and the horse is calm
Although he gallops a few steps for old times' sake.

I am a young woman and I see many horses in the field,
But they are far away.
Like a ghost I can neither smell nor touch them.
But at night I ride one hundred horses,
And these horses ride the wind.

I am growing older and no longer have the strength to shout.
My horse is content to travel at a slow pace.
With ears forward and eyes closed he walks without stumbling.
With eyes open and ears closed
I fall forever.

My bones are wrapped in white linen.
Strong hands lift them onto a horse.
I smell daffodils and water running over glacial stones.
The horse rides the wind.
I feel the sun as we fly.

Winking, the sun laughs and hides behind a cloud.
Like a hundred tiny feet running, the rain chases.
A cosmic yet local game of tag ensues.
The sun and the rain do the bidding of Nature,
Heedless of human opinion.

A gasp, a sigh, for the sun who is hiding.
An unanswered plea falling on the ears of the rain.
We worry so much.
We forget that the sun and the rain come and go,
Yet are constant and eternal.
We forget ourselves.

But the sun burns our shadows into the earth.
She remembers.
The rain carves our likeness into her stones.
We forget.
We don't seem to see the very real connection
Between ourselves and all that is.

We are afraid to look away from our tiny lives
To catch a star, to breathe the air,
To feel the sun and the rain.
We do not even notice the games they play,
Even when we are invited.