Golden Haze

In the morning light standing with the finest most rare beauty (the sun, the horse, our hearts, the shared presence) it is all that… as we all gallop across the land, through trees and into the eye of the beloved, a haze of gold and sweep of green mist, sap and dew, a kaleidoscope of light, hitting form, to spread distant shadows, carving into the land, like an age into the mortal fresh. To be, older, to be, becoming… the depth carried rather than the vision you throw the mirror. There is nothing left to give, only to receive, the breath to witness, the heart to feel.