Treasure

"and she put her face against my face,
put her muzzle, her nostrils, soft as violets,
against my mouth and my nose, and breathed me,
to see who I was,
a long quiet minute-minutes—
then she stamped feet and whisked tail
and danced deliciously into the grass away, and came back.
She was saying, so plainly, that I was good, or good enough."

From The Poet Goes to Indiana by Mary Oliver

The photograph is of a little horse I bought - and treasure - no more than 2" long. It was made by Duncan MacDonald, a Celtic stoneware sculptor from Scotland, now based in Ontario.