Photo & Poem: Winter


A night so frigid the snow
stopped at midnight, the farm
dark under thick clouds. He
takes a shallow breath, hoping
to warm the sharp air that’s
already chilled him deep in
his lungs. Shifting weight, cold
joints pinch at first light; early
winter when the sun comes
late, then stays low in the sky.
The old gelding waits, his
memory long enough to know
it won’t always be this bitter. Anna Blake at Infinity Farm
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Anna Blake

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