Listen to Lisa Williams read “Midway through the storm—”.

Lightning struck close to the barn. And the horse
spooked so violently he banged his head,
wounded one eye, and suffered a concussion—
They’d thought he wouldn’t live.
But he made it through the next few harrowing days
then weeks, and now the horse,
the gentle one the girl had loved to ride
and who was good for younger riders because
of his placid nature and consistent gait,
has lost the use of the eye, much of
his hearing, and will not ever again be ridden.

At home the girl makes something, carefully
grating carrots and apple, stirring molasses,
vegetable oil, and oats into a mush
she bakes, then breaks into small lumps
the horse’s lagging jaws can chew. She takes
a bag of them to the barn, walks up
to the horse on his good side, murmuring
calmly. Hi boy, good boy, she says, unfolding
crumbs and lumps of the sweetness she has
fashioned in her hands. The horse
can mouth them at an angle, eats every
one of the treats she made—.