When I Am Old...

When I am old, I shall wear muck boots and lipstick.
And faded denim overalls with a ripped pocket right in front.
I shall spend my husband’s life insurance money
On fresh cut hay, grooming brushes, oats and fencing supplies.
I will haul my fragile bones out to the yard
And meditate to the harmony of my beauties munching hay,
And I shall inhale their scent deep into my cells
Because they are my best medicine.
I shall experience my most intimate conversations
With my special mares
And not give a darn if others think
That I am “that whacky horse lady.”
I shall climb upon my aging friend’s comfortable back at sunrise
And go on an adventure, even if only into the nearby field
So she can graze.
I shall dream of our days gone by…
Of galloping through the bean fields, jumping fallen trees,
And exploring in the woods.
And I shall ask my Creator that when my time on Earth is done,
That I be greeted on the other side
With the familiar whinnies of my very best friends,
My horses.

Authentic Self

In the depths of the horse stalls,
I spot her...
Maneuvering a manure fork like a melody,
In her mud soaked boots and lipstick.

I feel the warmth of her compassionate heart
   as the scent of horse sweat escapes from her pores.
She is always here with me on the farm, feeding chickens,
   grooming horses, playing with dogs.
I ask her to join me on my escapades...
   to the coffee house, on errands, to the river or to meet friends.
She is good company.

Sometimes her hand slips from mine
   in moments where confidence has waned.
As she becomes distant, I begin to disappear.
I frantically search for her warm palm against mine.
I stop.
Breathe deep.
Remember the truth.
And the scent of her, however faint,
Returns.