The Aurochs in the Mist

The aurochs in the mist (October 6th 2015)

It’s the print in the black mud,

So fresh it steams and bubbles,

Vast hoof-print holding water

Like a dark clay vessel cupping

The rain as it cascades off my hat,

That tells me I am not alone.

Further up the path, I smell him,

Rich, musky dung in shining heaps

More evidence of his passing,

Though the mist obscures the sight.

If I go forward, we will surely meet

And I, poor feeble human, will

Perhaps be mashed into the mud,

Trampled by razor-tipped hooves

Tossed on coat-rack horns

And discarded as easily as the bracken

That catches on those lethal spears.

SNORT

Breath in clouds,

He emerges from the mist

A she, lesser in size,

Docile as her grand-sire

Was assuredly not,

Pauses at the sight of me

Standing in her path,

Tosses her head, not me,

Before turning back

And returning whence she came.

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2 thoughts on “The Aurochs in the Mist

  1. I love your opening lines and ‘Tossed on coat-rack horns’. An imaginative meeting with our ancient fears which we no longer have to fear. Wonderful.

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