Up & Down

This is life, up & down. In and out and round-about. The sun rises the rooster crows ancient braves shoot arrows with invisible bows. The hunting ground of post mortem bliss filled with buffaloes who do not shit. The moon and sun chase each other through the sky. While the journeying brave stops to ponder why.

The end of the trail or so the t-shirt says. Woeful recollections and inspiring tombs. The wolves are hungry, blood thirsty their bellies aching for meat. The precious metals and stones reflect beautifully the sun's omnipotent glory.

The women weave baskets and hunt for small game. They tell stories by the river's edge from generations ago retold with their own personal flair. The cool breeze tosses their hair gently as they reminisce.

Horses stand like statues against the plain winds at night. Their manes look dapper in the pale moon light. Their hooves and noses take me back to another time, before ghosts, before daggers, before smoke, before mirrors.

The nose of a horse is a wonderful thing, I must say. Have you ever touched one? It's so soft yet massive. Each of their nostrils is the diameter of a silver dollar. There are little hairs sprouting out like cat whiskers not to mention the peach fuzz that coats the entire mechanism accounting for its peach like softness.