Autumn

Cool air seems to quicken the horses' feet.
They feel a change coming.
Hearts beat like drums.
Warpaint on the trees.

Old scars ache
Reminders
Of long-ago adventures
Misadventures
And foolish mistakes

Some scars you can see
And others you can't
Some were given to me
Others I had to fight for

A breeze, a glass of wine,
the scent of my horse
Fresh in my nostrils
And I can't help wondering
What good I've done
Or if I'll be able to do any
Before winter.

sj