busy carpenter bees buzzing

crashing against farmhouse windows as i sit looking out to the shenandoah mountains far off in the distance

horses stand still, statuesque

one tail sweeps, a single hoof lifts, tilting into an elegant stance, the dancer’s b+ position, waiting

preparation, transition

a rooster crows

one horse sits, one sways, one stays

the 25-year-old named kid lowers her mighty weight to the ground with a thud and lays down her head

i’ve never seen a horse lay down its head

the second, “a stinker named dunnie”, shifts his weight from one hoof to another, sways backwards in slow motion

and i think he’s going down like kid but then he sways forward, stands still as clay, staring off, except for the twitch of a muscle, a shake of his cool braided mane

the third, the largest, the overseer, “just al,” followed us across the field this morning and stood watching on the hill as we hiked the trail, now stands motionless while

kid lifts her weight back up as cumbersomely as she went down, then saunters off to relieve herself and moves on

dunnie does the same and

al shifts slowly to face them, just watching, doesn’t follow, and i think

some of us are better at just being than others

i am like the bees

but here, in shenandoah valley, i want to become like the horses