Yesterday afternoon while brushing Chanta I sat down in the grass. He let me stroke his long, sturdy legs. He snuffled the top of my head and knocked my cheap sunglasses to the ground. I leaned against the meat of his forearm, passenger side. Then, exhausted from the morning, I laid down on the grass, flat on my back, still holding his brushes. He look me square in the eyes and exhaled all of his sweet, grassy horse breath on me then swung that massive head to the left.
He started crunching the grass all around the edges of my limp body. He could have walked away, grazing the full expanse of the front yard and vegetable garden area, but he stayed with me. Munching and breathing around me. Almost beneath me, tickling my ribs and moving my legs out of the way if they covered a little patch of sweet clover. My hair sprawled out on the ground was in danger of being mistaken for hay. I wondered if Chanta was trying on purpose to make me laugh and thought for a while about anthropomorphism then felt sad for people who don’t know animals are emotional creatures.
The sky behind him was both blue and gray, quilted with brilliant clouds and warm with the sun. The farm was sleepy, full of birdsong and buffalo chuffing, peaceful.
I know the truth about some things that I can’t articulate. Sometimes I allow fear and grief to drain me, but Love always sweeps in and fills me back up. The storms always calm, and the sky always returns to it gray-blue brilliance.
XOXOXOXO