Horseflesh

Was it the devil resting on my rubber booted foot? He drank for an eternity, his mane reminding me that flies abound in sulphur air the weight was overwhelming now, a hoof so sharp, of Clydesdale size, a gentle, crushing giant. The memory of that event has lingered now for years, the more I live the more I fear it was the foot of Satan. Perhaps the horse, for just one day, a kindred spirit unbeknownst, to both of us, but devils scorned, sees wooden stakes aimed at the heart of evil aimed at beast and man. There was a scent that made me stand in warming touch, unspoken words, so close that it attracted him a grimacing mad face. Yet in the face of balmy heat and feral understanding two souls so distant, under par unite in harmony.