Just a reminder that it says more about me than anyone else.
Chilly Sunday Afternoon (Small Stone January 8th)
The air is cooler today than it’s been in a while, crisper and drier too. The sky is slate gray with only patches of blue here and there, and where the afternoon sun manages to scrape through the clouds, its light is a dull silver instead of the usual gold. The evocative fragrance of a bonfire mixes with the smells of hay, leather, and chicken litter, so that closing my eyes takes me back to our beloved Buffalo Mountain.
Out of nowhere a breeze kicks up, scattering a thousand fragile oak leaves and slicing through my long but thin cotton sleeves. I am reminded gently that we’re still in the middle of January, that the sublime springtime fantasy these past weeks was exactly that.
Brushing Chanta (Small Stone January 7th)
I drag the circular metal brush along his body, easily and gently sorting out the red dirt from his long winter hairs which have dried together in wavy, random peaks. He’s definitely been in the pond today. This boy smells of mud, sunshine, and a little algae.
The longer I brush him the more he relaxes, until his left rear hoof cocks up nearly off the ground, transferring even more of his 1200 pounds forward. A good sign of sleepiness.
He lets me smooth and clean his gorgeous neck, then every muscular part of his body, and then each of his four incredible legs, all the while listening to his deep, steady breathing, until all that remains uncombed are his belly and his throat.
His round belly is ticklish, so i have to be more careful here. Brushing it wakes him up a bit, and he bends that long, thick neck far to his left for a closer look at my progress. We Eskimo kiss peacefully and I continue. He exhales as if to surrender.
Once his belly is clean and smooth again, liberated from that afternoon cloud of red dirt, I creep gingerly to kneel in front of this gentle giant. Brushing his throat, touching his feet, squeezing his knobby knees, inhaling his sweet, warm breath and noticing the halo of late day sun through the edge of his coat. So beautiful, this horse. His ankles, so strong and solid, are covered by tendrils of silver blond hair for winter.
Now squatting in front of him, I rest my forehead on that plump, divided piece of flesh on his chest. Nuzzle him with my cheek. Kiss his furry shoulder. He returns the gesture by leaning way down and simply resting his chubby mouth on the top of my head. I am pretty sure he fell asleep again in this position, just for a couple of minutes. I sit very still and just accept it. Then without warning I feel him chewing sneakily on my ponytail.
I could stay here and do this all day. So could he, I think, because when I finally stand and walk reluctantly away he crosses my path and nudges my hands, insisting on more.
Sensual Morning (Small Stone January 6th)
Mid morning sun bathes everything downstairs in warmth and brightness, revealing both sparkling glass and dusty chair legs. I can smell fresh coffee, dish washing soap, and pine scented perfume, a Scentsy gift from my cousin Jen. Big, broad, healthy poinsettia leaves in red, green and creamy white beg to be touched. They look and feel like threadbare velvet. This reminds me to brush the horses, to kiss their velvet noses. Which reminds me to scoop more manure today, please and thank you. Which makes me wonder how many pairs of jeans I still have clean.
At 8:23 a.m., anything is still possible. A good chunk of my daily tasks are already completed and nearly ten hours stand between us and a blessedly holiday-free weekend. This fact is both motivating and paralyzing.
I wonder what the girls are doing this morning.
How happy, healthy, sleepy, excited, nostalgic,
romantic, silly, curious, angry, or ornery they might feel.
I hope they feel my love.
Having a difficult time peeling myself away from the quiet, I decide to drain the last of my sweet, hot coffee from my favorite chipped rooster mug. See what kind of dent I can make in the day. Saying a quick prayer for everyone to return to Love, truth, and beauty, and to cling to those as much as possible. It’s now 8:34 a.m., time to launch.
Bird Watching (Small Stone January 5th)
Sitting in our big east window this Thursday morning, our large macaw on my shoulder, I can’t help but notice the barrier between wild and tame. I can smell his powdery dander, feel his smooth feathers against my face, and hear his gentle mornings clucks and kisses. He mostly focuses on me and only occasionally notices the flurry of activity outdoors. On the other side of the smooth glass pane, cardinals, blue jays, crows, and so many other birds are in swarms today. Zooming through the abundant sunshine, hunting breakfast, swirling patterns of love and freedom in the clean January sky.
The smallest birds are like specks compared to our huge blue and yellow baby, but despite his size and despite his massive hook bill and sharp talons, he is the most vulnerable of them all.
********************
Not two minutes after writing this,
Pacino had returned to his cage
and a very small, fat, gray and brown bird
crashed violently into the picture window.
Pacino jumped muttered seriously, “Uh-oh. What happened?”
Apparently domesticity breeds some compassion.
I thanked my lucky bird-Momma stars that he was safe in his gilded cage,
perhaps a little less vulnerable than I a moment ago believed.