snaffle-chains

Updated: May 3, 2025

Then I heard the voice of the old waggon-maker calling us to breakfast. There are mornings that cling in the memory like a face caught for a moment in some crowded street and lost; mornings when no cloud curtains the doorway of the sun; when the snaffle-chains rattle sharp in the crisp air and the timber cracks in the frost.

Melville Davisson Post - Dwellers in the Hills