Our Father

The lost horse we saddled and bridled in a downpoor got loose again and won’t come home ’til another thunderstorm drives it from the hills. We thought we broke it – that the fear of our will was devotion – but a breath of freedom holds for ages and our wisdom never taught us that. Now the chores are cumbersome and the land is run through with our slow tracks while the herd runs wild, so we’ll pull down the fences to show faith but keep the barbed-wire strung,  the fence-posts dug, and our kids busy churning cement nearby.

7 thoughts on “Our Father

    1. It is a photo of a drawing – looked sort of like an abstract view of a pinto horse’s hair so I used it for the post. Thanks.

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