Living the dream

JOCK of CRADLEHALL BOWMORE MAJOR ISLAY MIST

Almost 50 years on I am now living the dream.

DREAMS

At ten years old, my eyes are fixed

as lines of black and shining flanks

trot proudly by, each one adorned

with gleaming tack and mirrored hooves,

and in their wake they leave behind

the heady smell of dung and sweat,

the sweetest smell that can exist,

it warmly fills the air

with each drawn breath I take.

A city child, my dreams consist

of manes and tails and velvet ears,

low whickers over wooden gates,

but now. . . fast forward forty years,

from city, metamorphosised

I stand with Jock this afternoon

and feel his breath upon my hand.

Now country-wise, I glance and see

the darkening skies, the changing hues,

and as he snorts and canters off,

I realise, sometimes, dreams come true.