The View

Horse eating grass

Image: markuso /

From where I sit, I can see horses.  What a privilege to write such a sentence.  Yes, I must first look past the fire escape-styled terrace (nicer than the fire escape in the apartment I lived in as a child, but for all purposes a fire escape), then the bare wintering trees, and yes, I can see all the neighboring condos and huge houses, but there is a red stable, and when I don’t expect it, there passes the slender figure of a horse, startling me out of reverie. I think at first it is a deer I see, but in an instant, I see the horse I’ve come to regard as a friend.

My immediate neighbors are two artists, a musician, a poet, and a toddler, and if that isn’t romantic, then what is?  And, and,  in my view. are horses.  My dear college professor, Mr. Gifford, uses italics to impart humor, I remember now, remembering too the letters I mean to write.  A friend in San Diego lives in a condo that faces the sea, and she has a wall of windows that let her see every day the crash of waves.  Here, I hardly go to the sea, content with this view of trees, stable, horse. It’s not permanent, of course. And maybe it’s distracting.  I havent mentioned the birds that flit.  Fly.

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