Alive (September)

By Claire Stockwell

An old stock horse, slurps from the trough

He once stood strong and tall, 

Was quick with the instinct of a veteran. 

Now, two decades on, he stands frail

His spine, each bone defined under his skin. 

He shakes, but loads into the trailer 

Steady, like he always has. 

He’s moving to a better paddock.

Closer to the homestead, where he can be fed. 

He whinnies out to the friends from his old paddock, but 

he

is 

alive. 

Heifers, two-year-old cattle 

All crowded around the trough. 

The bore had turned off,

The tank was nearly empty. 

Careless, forgetful

How did it go unnoticed? 

We start the bore and 

Fill the trough enough for them to drink.

We sit with them, make sure 

That no one starts a fight.

The bore still runs, the troughs are all full. 

They

are 

alive. 

I never really noticed 

Until today,

How your heart beats faster when it’s hot.

Climbing temperatures, humidity building

No hope of relief from rain yet. 

Yet. 

It’s only September. 

The horses revel when washed,

Dogs jump in the trough, 

While we jam as much ice into our water bottles 

As we can. 

It’s hot, it’s hard, but

we

are

alive. 

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