first the year dawns in bloody wolfsmoon climbing to hang over valley
a rite performed in old Europa, the spoils returned
Valley of Fear
the horse rune: ehwaz
the resolve becomes real, a token given, a horse received. a piebald runtish colt, half skittish, half full of crazy ancient wisdom, the mad eye of fugly, playboys mentor in his old life of rutting and stable, quieting him while the moor wind screams in the pylons. chesters veiled and distant eye, roaming the winds.
18, the vase, and as I trudge over field, sometimes the storm behind me, cloaking first the moors, flowing into the valleys, I see the familiar transformed, light and mist playing tricks inventing new peaks valleys trees, gondalian landscapes, fragile lost and eternal.
the moon over the valley, the thinnest sickle and the Great Bear poised like cleaver on one side of the sky, and Orion in the other, the eye slipping as if on a sagging skein til it alights on the too bright liquid sapphire sparkle of Sirius
and in the time it took that moon to be half of the blue rose monster wolf moon
he is mine, us, ours.... Domino.
checking him out time, the herds lead mare, Mia, gives him a good huff