Sage Meets Pine
Raw verses born from rain soaked trails and silent conversations with horses who know more about authentic presence than most humans ever will.
There's a sacred alchemy between hooves and earth. For me, writing has always been the closest ground-bound alternative to that horseback clarity — both demand full presence and reveal truths hidden in plain sight.
So I'm adding something unexpected to our newsletter: cowgirl poetry.
Raw verses born from rain soaked trails and silent conversations with horses who know more about authentic presence than most humans ever will. These poems capture what I've learned reading the energy of people, horses, and land — where mindfulness extends beyond clinical frameworks into wild creative territory.
Remembrance: Sage Meets Pine
First time in the round pen together,
my geldings's ears pricked forward, recognizing
something in your hands he'd known before.
My soul did the same - knowing you
from times when we'd ridden different trails,
different horses, different wars.
Five, maybe six lives back,
our hoofprints marked the same dust,
warriors reading the wind's ancient stories.
Now here, where sage meets pine,
the mountains hold memories longer than time,
and horses still speak truth without words.
In the tack room quiet, leather creaking
like old conversations between souls,
I felt the weight of recognition settle
deep in my bones, sure as a stirrup's swing.
You knew the rhythm of this too -
the way old souls find their gate again.
These hills have taught me to trust myself,
to stand steady in my own ground.
But with you, the ground shifts deeper,
like when a good horse finds its center
in rough country, knowing exactly
where to place each foot.
I learned to read tracks in hard ground,
to see stories others miss.
So I see your heart's careful guarding,
the way it tests each step like a horse
crossing unknown terrain. I understand -
some trails leave marks that run soul-deep.
The weight of stories you believed about yourself
became armor you thought you needed.
I saw through to the truth beneath,
patient while you remembered who you are.
Like gentling a proud horse,
I'll wait while you remember your own worth.
If you give me your heart,
I'll honor it like a well-made hackamore,
knowing the trust it takes to offer up
something shaped by years of hard learning.
I'll read the scars like a horseman reads spook,
seeing the whole story, not just its ending.
We found each other again in this life,
like horses finding their way back to home range.
The old knowing rises with each ride,
speaking through rein-weight and saddle creak,
reminding us that some souls
were meant to ride the same trails again.