They stand there, side-by-side, seemingly unmoving, gazing off toward the mountains. Now and then the darker one slowly turns his head to look at me, one brown eye following my passage back and forth on the dirt and gravel road. I stop to talk to him, to pat his nose. He comes closer, bares long, sharp teeth, and I back off a bit.
They both stand silently for hours, doing nothing—not even grazing the brown grasses. Perhaps they are asleep. Horses sleep in snatches standing up. Some think a horse can sleep with only half a brain—and that while one half sleeps, the other is alert. One eye drooping shut, the other staying open. Alternating. What might half a horse brain dream while the other half stares at the horizon?
These horses slow me down to horse time. I would rest like that in some pasture, my legs relaxed and locked so I can’t fall, days drifting by behind my binocular eyes. Last night, walking back to the residence, I saw a shooting star. A second or two, and it was gone, though it turned gold as it died. Horse time, star time—our time a walk between the two—and gone.
the sun’s corona streaming