At thirteen, I saddled Patches, my pony, for my first
Solo fifteen-mile ride to grandpa’s ranch. Chafed
And exultant, I arrived in three hours to a hero’s hugs.
At forty- five, I took a Super Sonic flight from New York to
Paris without a welcoming party. Memory of the three-hour,
Sound-Barrier-Breaking flight above the clouds has faded,
While the urgent, gurgling sound of rushing water splashing
Around Patches’ legs, as we forded White River, is forever.
urgent, gurgling, rushing, splashing, can hear and see this one so beautifully Glen xoxoxo
Fascinating how what might seem to be monumental to others dims in comparison to our own emotions from simpler times. Well done, Glen!