Wild Horses and Routine

Today was a day when sixty starlings
fell like snow from the sky.
Today Fiona's fur shone purple glimmerings,
but her eyes leaked green sparks of jealousy.
Sigh.
Today I decided I would love her out of her fear.
I will love me out of my fear, too.
Today wild horses tossed their heads in my chest,
hooves lashing at my intent to establish routine.
They fear capture!
Being corralled!
Sure that they will lose themselves in a box.
"Run if you want to be free," they cry.
"Kick down fences!"
But I know my path lies through
The land of discipline,
Rituals like stepping stones,
Routine subtle walls outlining my way.
Direction.
I've been running "free" in circles.
Today is the day I accept that walking
the razor's edge, allowing the reins of a divine rider,
is the only way to get where I want to go.
All else is tilting at windmills.