We used to hear the horses
running for fun,
all the whole length
of the high paddocks,
then stop, wheel and return –
a rapid rumble, a drumming,
like sudden wind or even
the thunder of waves.
But we were far from the ocean.
Later we lived on the coast.
At night, outside our door
we heard the rhythmic roar
of waves endlessly
rolling and breaking.
Not much like hooves, although
I remembered Arnold's line:
'the wild white horses foam and fret'.
Anyway, we were far then from the hills.
Image Copyright © Karin Gustafson
