Election night

Everyone at home is clenching their teeth and staring at their phones while waiting for small slices of democracy to be categorized and counted…

…an army of tiny catalysts
ready to set the world on fire.

My world feels gentler as I sit in the grass, chewing on a toothpick and wiping horse shit off my pants.

The mist lingers like a failed romance and I’m better for it while, in my right ear, Mr. Cohen quietly preaches, reminding me that I want it darker…

He’s right of course.
He always is.

A dog barks in the distance and starts a riot somewhere in this cloud that we find ourselves sharing. A horse stops chewing but never lifts her head, blinking slowly as she breathes into the dirt. After what feels like a lifetime, the dogs quiet down and she continues grazing as gently as a horse can do anything.

The world keeps spinning and I find myself wishing that everyone back home had a toothpick and some horse shit on their pants.

Maybe then they’d know what these horses know…

A bit of barking in a cloud is a pause not a reset.