One Sunday in Winter
Acey and I went out today. We left in mid-morning, while frost still clung in the furrows of barren fields. We wandered the roads around home, waved to Sunday drivers in farm trucks and shirts and ties.
We watched our shadow flow along the frozen ditch ~ just one shadow, shared between us. We paused to study other horses in their pastures, ducked the whir of pheasants passing overhead, stopped where we found bunches of grass left green by fall.
Our trek of seven miles took two hours. But who cared? Trotting felt like too much work; worse, as though it would pound out the silence of our winter day, which rang bright and ephemeral as a church bell half the town away.
These are the days for easy rides, for walking if we please, to prolong the miles and soak the sun through our many layers of coats and mane and gloves. The farmland is shorn to shades of brown. There is nothing, and everything, to see.
The world curls around herself, catlike, set to sleep through Christmas and the New Year. She’ll awake around Valentine’s Day, blushing and moody. We’ll smile while she bobs slowly into consciousness, having watched her all this while, and wondered.
Perhaps we are what she dreams about.
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