NIGHT-DARK SUNDAY MORNING STABLES

Tack and torch and titbit in hand,
Quiet I come, to better hear the kind
Welcome of dawn-twitter, whisp’ring straw, and
The crunch of strong jaws, chew and grind;
Low-blowing snuffle, shuffle and champ,
Docile pawing, impatient stamp.

Night-dark Sunday morning stables – a brown
Lifts his head as I pass. An earring
Of corn dangles comically down.
A chestnut mare stops munching, hearing
Footfall. Enquiringly glances at me,
But knows it’s not her I’ve come to see.

I call softly, anticipating
The instant whickering reply.
Ears pricked, lampbright eyes, waiting,
Alert, excited, her greeting high-
Pitched, muzzle twitching, nostrils flared.
Offerings accepted, affinities shared.

Eager now to be out, she stands
As I place the saddle, hitch the girth,
When I buckle the bridle, check straps, hands
Smoothing, soothing, voice crooning. Then
She paws the ground, and pushes my side -
Come on! Make haste! Let us ride… Let us ride!

© Lynne Harris