Her hooves thundered on the ground beneath
Dark eyes darting
Nostrils flaring, her breath, she breathed
Into the fog
The air crisp and sweet
She ran boldly
The sun bounced off the horizon
Dipping below in the sky
Her soft golden coat catching flickers of the light
Tangled mane with colours of white
She runs, without a knowing
Fierceness burns deeply inside
Anxious, her fate awaits
The day is coming
Skies begin to darken, the fog has thickened
And stillness abounds all around
Galloping down
The night has fallen
Soon, the sun will be breaking at dawn
Until then, she runs
About the Creator
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More stories from Carly Harper and writers in Poets and other communities.
First Starlight of Summer
Your whole being is constituted by yearning. You miss the stars but have never seen a fully-realized night sky sparkle to life before your eyes. You write things, funny but short but profound, emulating the archaic cosmos that turns by its own unknowable calculus emulating love in all its celestial glory turning in that same cryptic way, but fully know neither and hardly know both, and it feels disingenuous, so you write about writers. It feels vaguely masturbatory, but it’s funny but short but profound and it impresses the people around you enough, so you run with it forever until you can’t anymore.
By Steven Christopher McKnight4 days ago in Fiction
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