Pilgrim

A faded monochrome photo of Ago
triggers instant full-spectrum recollection - The Horse.
Pilgrim indeed, progressed
via adolescent trespass
to precipitate horsey heaven.

Resurrecting the immediate glory
before the hubric-Effect;
tearing along the old coach road
under the lush avenue of green
in a cocoon of rushing sounds,
visceral sensations of pounding piston-power and flying light,
through Wytham Woods
at the crack of summer dawn.

Unthinking youth, wild child,
wilful, headlong
- yet careful not to awaken sleepers,
side-stepping tell-tale, creaky boards and stairs
intoxicant with the early, pranic air, 
irresistibly allured
socking the solar plexus
with inchoate, burgeoning joy.

The water-meadows were awash
in muffled, milky mists,
where steamy primordial shapes of Equidae
loom,  drifting in soft-focus,
muffled immemorially.
A raised head, twitch of ear
a plumed puff of nostril smoke,
a velvety wuffle,
swishy wet grasses scrunched;
- up for the adventure and risk...

Clattering out of the yard,
snorting and huffing, dopamine-brim - jingling bits, creaking leathers,
sopping turf verges, gravel-spatter then tarmac:
hollow-hooved clopping over the echoey toll-bridge
before the master awakes  -  and up the ancient track
to the trespassers' gate.

Ancient beeches, hung like lace
traipsed over the grassy tunnel,
threaded with animal tracks
- badger, deer, fox -
edged by bracken, scrub and briar.
For a - however elder - racing horse
what a Course, what a chance
for letting go, for flat-out speed!
So we, conjoined in purpose, sped.
Having been brought up “proper”
specially with ref to all-things-horse
I should have known better.
We fled to where the old Way
opened above the Thames valley
with Oxford’s stone towers clustered below, beyond.
Pilgrims’ flanks were heaving
and my eyes, mane-snagged
blinking tears, lungs emptied of air
Thus, we turned homewards ...
...lit up, let out, blood-up and running.
Too late.
Ambling along, without preamble
he suddenly dropped like stone,
flinging me aside his flaying legs,
as he thrashed, brain-busted, done,
his final cathartic run.

All at dayspring - before breakfast.

May