A Quiet Moment

Last week, planes were grounded in Arizona due to the excessive heat.  Planes weren't grounded in Northern California, but the roads shimmered and the sun beat down with stage light intensity.  Yes, we were miserable.  The horses stomped in annoyance at the flies while drinking copious amounts of water.  I was thankful to be at work, where we have air conditioning, during the week.  Brett sent me texts throughout the day, giving me updates on how unbearable it was at home.

Lucy

In the evening, we fed and cleaned the pastures as the sun set.  We did our best to time it so we could finish before last light, while the shadows from the trees were long and welcoming.  We moved slowly, stopping often to lean on our muck rakes.  Its funny how the heat saps our strength.

After finishing up the chores, I put a few cookies in my pocket -- just in case -- and wandered over to the pasture fence.  Tex and Flash were quietly concentrating on their hay, heads down, chewing slowly and deliberately.  I stood quietly at the fence while Brett closed up the barn for the night.  Tex looked up, and then walked over to me.  I slipped him a cookie and, as he chewed, I stood with my arms crossed on the top rail and my head on my arms.  I was tired and hot and I didn't expect Tex to stay.  I just lacked the energy to move.

Tex didn't leave, though.  He stepped closer and sniffed my hair.  I felt his warm breath on my ear and then on my cheek.  He put his head through the space between the rails and nudged my shirt.  I mumbled, "no more cookies, Tex.  I'm out."

And, still, he stayed.  He explored me the way a mother explores her newborn child.  I felt incredible connection in those moments.  Tex blew softly on my face again before returning to his dinner.  Since that evening, he's been completely relaxed with me.  We know each other.

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