Angel Voices

It rained last Christmas-eight inches!
And the ensuing flood avenged the summer's drought.
Waters, brown with mud filled the ditches.
"The river's out!"
Crept up the slope in the backyard
Toward the steps across the way
Pete had to go to Hot Springs every day.
Pre-dawn drive through water-pretty hard.
"It hasn't reached it's crest"
the sheriff said.
The dam's cracked-hope it'll hold!"

The mud tracked in the house-
Pete did his best
But the car couldn't make it and
Cecil and his truck gave us a hand.
And, Cookie's luck, her ponies came to visit.
Erin rode them home.
Flaxy didn't like it much, (Preferred to roam.)
She stopped in deepest water and rolled.
(A late December swim is cold.)

The pump was under water at the riverbank.
And when the flood subsided, the tank
We watered horses in was out again
And we had no water for too much rain

Respite for New Years
Then sleet and snow began.
The road affirmed our fears and ran,
Slick with ice.
If your descent was not enough
To crest the hill ahead,
You'd have your whole day spent
Spinning wheels at the foot of the hill instead
(And if you couldn't drive with skill you're dead)

The chores at home became a great delight.
For even though our pipes were frozen tight
And complications made the labor hard,
The winter metamorphosis and sight
Of ordinary objects in the yard-
With flocks of cardinals-scarlet upon white-
Who daily came to find hot steaming food
(Courtesy of the horses) and the blood
Of one each hour-crimson on the snow
Gertrude, tawny lioness, had hot food, though I stood
In disapproval of her aptitude.

Nightly in the darkness of pre-dawn,
Fog forming over snow:
For Pete, an early peril, but for me
The sight of trees above and clouds below-
A heavenly lawn!
Was majesty.
But I had just begun to glimpse the glories
That compensate our cares;
One morning flying low-over the mares
A great blue heron!
It seemed so out of place-it didn't fit
In this "New England" winterscape and it
Touched my soul.

Twelfth Night (his birthday) and Pete
Stayed in Hot Springs. (Horses had to eat.)
For things at home I'd have to care.
(Time was close for our best mare.)
Next morn I fed the fire and when
It warmed the house up- woke up Ben
And put him in the chair by the window>
"Watch God paint the sky!"
Busy with our breakfast I
Forgot he was there.
Suddenly a voice from the chair,
"Look! There's a stripe of green!"
(His favorite color) he had seen
A faint band between pink and yellow.
I'd never noticed green in sunrise,
Yet seeing through a child's eyes
Was adventure for me also.

Pete stayed again on January ninth.
I fed at four.
"Nothings in store for us tonight, I'm sure."
Again at ten I went to see her -
"She's up to her tricks!"
The coldest night of winter,
stall door frozen fast in it's braces,
A little blazed faced head met my hand.
(Most foals her age had barely learned to stand.)
Already round the stall she's running races!
And Peter there-I couldn't even call.

In wobbly-legged days Mother rejoiced!
Rains then impelled the thaw.
Motherli mud-talent now we saw.
And Forli's ways in Felony's grandchild.
Intrepid Lady's wild imperious nerve.
We voiced our awe.

But we were tired,
For ecstacy and fear,
Death and birth, old and new year,
And drought and flood the balance made.
But we were mired,
And had to wade
In mud!
The weatherman said,
"More rain through Saturday."
"Dear Lord," I prayed,
(And with a smile,)
"We have no hay. Give us this day our daily hay."
My Friend would understand.
(But He had everything in hand.)

Into the gloomy morn I went outdoors,
Wading ankle-deep in mud to do the chores.
I tried not to be touchy,
Asked my Friend,
"Lord, let there be an end
To this so Pete won't be so grouchy!"

"Honk! Honk!" they cried,
"Look up!"
I looked up in the sky.
Over the airways of the great blue heron,
Low, over the mares,
The snowgeese flew.
The sun broke through
The clouds behind, and like my cares,
They blew away!
(It did not rain again for many a day.)

Sara Luce and I rejoiced!
She proclaimed the Glory in the Father with her art
Of glorious God-given grace. Horses are smart!
"Praise be to God!" I voiced,
But Sara's pantomime of same,
Performed as airs above the ground
Put me to shame!
Her lovely figure-skater's choreography
Proved her superior in soul's geography.

So many literary figures think that here
Sara's just a symbol of man's cheer!
(everyone knows that horses can't think!)
I beg to differ, clearly,
Their perspective differs, merely.
(Its superior to ours.)
They rest assured that they are God's creation,
And beauty , speed and Truth their celebration.
There IS NO logic, faith without,
And in the place of logic
They choose faith.
And spare themselves the desperate hours of doubt
That plague our race.
For, using logic, we lose faith!
Having no knowledge of what's bad or good,
They likewise have no reason to feel guilt.
And, feeling guiltless are sinless, understood,
For sin is that which does not come from faith.
Christ for sinners our redemption built.
He gave us all He had.
He was sent for our salvation,
And not for others, sinless from creation.
God gave us dominion over them
Whose total faith is offered up to Him!
All these blessings we inherit
Through His grace and not our merit.
Sara sped and stopped and slid and spun,
Gravity barely containing her diction,
In ecstasy of soul at shiny mud and sun.
Defying friction.
Her pirouettes would make a ballerina gasp.
They were so fast!
Her courbettes to precision and ability
Proclaimed her thoughts with such agility!
Would her vocabulary impress more here had she said,
Like Mr. Ed, "I am a proclamation of creation.
God is ALIVE!"?

This is not hyperbole,
No paradox,nor irony, nor simile,
Nor metaphor, no, teacher,
I have NOT personified this creature!
God equinified her! I hope you've seen
Her poem IS it does not mean!

The dogs were barking, I looked up
"Somebody's coming up the drive."
My brother's pickup truck pulled up.
"It's going to rain today."
He said. I laughed at that!
My Friend had told me not!)
He took a bale of hay.
"Somebody lost this round the bend."

I cried.