of the morning

the forest overflowed its

greening ballad seeking someone in need of

music and found me. The person I am listened for

the right song nested inside the notes, living woodwinds

in search of a new instrument, a voice, all the flowering words

overflowing the shell of morning

in the searched forest.

I still sing it.

.

I took the photo near the Sol Duc River in the Olympic National Park, WA.

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soft with no predators nearby. They divide their grasses by ease of chewing. Horses, always

watchful, know their feet can instantly pick up in flight if danger is sensed.

My mind is soothed by the living clouds of their breath. The warm equine smell feels like a

homecoming. For a short time I am on an island of temporary Zen-like tranquility.

Back in the house, I make a simple dinner as people around the world are suffering,

even dying, for simply being present.

Outrage and calamity are everywhere and we don’t have fleet hooves to carry us

from predation by those whose mansions, skyscrapers and weapons foster hatred and

destruction.

A grief lives inside me that horses understand. Each animal places a velvet nose in my hand

when I say goodnight. They breathe peace into an empty room in my being.

Even the horse that died of colic is close in a faint blue mist that I see around the stalls in

a certain low light. My fiery black Tennessee Walker tells me I must be brave as her in the

end. I stand a little straighter with horse-strength, but I do not possess her courage, not yet.

Jennifer Pratt-Walter, 2026

Jennifer