Young lady on white horse
Stopping dead in her tracks
I couldn’t tell if it was acquiescence
Or reproach. Still I shot – I was new to the trade
Avid hunter of images and what could be
More perfect: the light reflecting up from
The white of a mane and flooding her
Face, its pride or consternation. A mare
With a wide chest. Their clarity amidst
A blur of other bodies. A blur of green bushes
I turned into all those tones of grey.
That was long ago. Young but already
Bending into the wicked curves of the road
At full gallop. Late lunch at the church
And men downing their beers, laughing and
Gurgling into the overcast afternoon. She’s
Looking down at me now, still enigma.
Still my best shot ever.
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