Winter Steam

This morning, as I knelt in front of the hearth and stacked wood in the stove, I heard Lucy and Pistol running outside.  I watched through the French door window as they thundered past.  It was very cold, and they knew breakfast was on the way, the steam of their anticipation hung in the air as they stamped, snorted and pranced.  I love watching Lucy.  She came down the fence line again, but this time at a trot and not a gallop.  She had her neck arched, her back lifted, and was pushing her self forward, her front legs reaching, reaching, as she floated past in perfect balance.

A few hours later, the sun was high enough to thaw the ice that covered everything once the rain had moved out, sometime during the night.  Steam rose from the pastures, the fallen oak, and the trees.

Flash and Tex stood, unmoving, and let the sun soak into their thick winter coats.  Even the goats were motionless, drinking in the warmth.