25/01/2026
Thunderhorse in Beaded Wind
He rises from the dust like a drumbeat,
white lightning wearing a dark mane—
feathers braided into motion,
turquoise and ember stitched to his sides
like songs you can ride.
The earth breaks open beneath his hooves,
not in anger—
in awakening.
Each strike is a heartbeat
answering the sky.
His neck is a river of strength,
his eyes two steady fires
that have seen far horizons
and never forgotten the way home.
On his body, patterns speak—
not decoration,
but memory:
the land’s old geometry,
the clan of wind,
the promise of return.
He rears, and for one breath
time becomes a doorway—
between storm and silence,
between fear and freedom,
between who you were
and who you must become.
O spirit horse,
carry me clean through the noise.
Teach me to run with respect,
to stand with courage,
to move like prayer—
wild, beautiful,
and bound to the earth
by love.
