This began as folklore, morphed into a short story then into a poem so in a way this has been a shared journey that is far from complete.
Bernice walks where no one goes
away from trucks that roar and spit out gravel
along weed clogged prairie trails with pungent scent of skunk and badger.
Daytime haze gives way to dusk
dust motes hang suspended in the moist air.
‘Round the bluff come horse and rider
the man’s head bowed upon his chest.
The horse drags hooves through thick powdery dirt
Closer now, she smells smoke and sweat of bygone battles
could touch his blood encrusted side, trace his wounds with her fingers.
The rider turns, stares down at her
his obsidian eyes gleam with fury and pain.
She wants to run but cannot move.
They turn off the trail parting the tall weeds
that slap the horses rump.
His head is a dark spot weaving through the field,
Bernice watches as they disappear into the twilight.