I got class. The blood of champions courses through my veins. I draw heritage from the finest American families like the Coxs and the Enstroms. A notable ancestor being Terrette's Tourbillon D'Gamin. I coulda been a contender.
My English grandfather brings bloodlines from names that regularly crowd that other show across the pond, names like Glenlee, Nokomis, Twinhoe. Have I not the poise, the looks? I have however been told my pasterns are not high enough, but I could have worked on that.
Unfortunately its never going to happen. Ah well tis the life of a muse and companion for me. I confess, I do allow myself the occasional fanatasy about the big win and do the victory lap at the run.
I wonder what Maisie's thinking.
13.2.07
1.2.07
A Light Snow
Its gone now. A pale powdery sheet that softly cloaked our morning walk. By evening only the chalky crust of salt that had been diligently applied to thwart it, echoed its short visit.
What a walk it was, the brilliance of the light, the softness of the shadows and how deliberate were the marks of our footsteps and the curve of the park attendants vehicle tracks. The smell in the air was clean, the white blanket slicing away everything else but the air itself to be breathed in uncomplicated by the the odors of the pavements and sidewalks. How strange too was the quietness that the snow rendered and yet sharpening the crisp sound of our footsteps and accentuating the rythmn of our breathing.
When we got to the end of Harlem Lane and turned back, I looked down the length of it with an uncontrollable urge to run at full gallop right to the other end, but first swerving into the basketball courts where it was pristine and unmarked. I tugged and pulled at my leash to no avail. PL did however let me mark three small mounds along the way home, to my great satisfaction.
The first time I saw snow was when I was six months old, except it was deeper than I was tall. PL had to pick me up and carry me to my usual spot. It terrified me, this cold alien material. I scrambled so quickly into our apartment building that I actually ground one nail to the quick.
How wildy different that was from this morning where it was nothing but dazzling and beautiful and peaceful and like all the rarest experiences to be enjoyed so very briefly.
What a walk it was, the brilliance of the light, the softness of the shadows and how deliberate were the marks of our footsteps and the curve of the park attendants vehicle tracks. The smell in the air was clean, the white blanket slicing away everything else but the air itself to be breathed in uncomplicated by the the odors of the pavements and sidewalks. How strange too was the quietness that the snow rendered and yet sharpening the crisp sound of our footsteps and accentuating the rythmn of our breathing.
When we got to the end of Harlem Lane and turned back, I looked down the length of it with an uncontrollable urge to run at full gallop right to the other end, but first swerving into the basketball courts where it was pristine and unmarked. I tugged and pulled at my leash to no avail. PL did however let me mark three small mounds along the way home, to my great satisfaction.
The first time I saw snow was when I was six months old, except it was deeper than I was tall. PL had to pick me up and carry me to my usual spot. It terrified me, this cold alien material. I scrambled so quickly into our apartment building that I actually ground one nail to the quick.
How wildy different that was from this morning where it was nothing but dazzling and beautiful and peaceful and like all the rarest experiences to be enjoyed so very briefly.
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