Young lady on a white horse.

 

 

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 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,  my old model.

Still enigma. Still 

              my best shot ever.

 

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