I have started to write. And this has meant going back through old blog posts and journals, looking at the journey I’ve been on. Much of it is not too pleasant to remember. But I think it’s important to look at the story from the perspective I have now and allow the story or poetry or whatever it is to simply unfold.
But then it is important to come back and ground myself in everything that is now because, of course, life goes on.
There are dogs to walk and I now feel a bit more urgency to run out and find the Brew Babes and I some reflective gear for our evening walks in the dark. Even with my head lamp turned on and with Java having a blinking light on her collar, we were a scream and a leap’s distance away from being hit by a car the other night. I’m not sure the reflective gear will actually make a difference as it appears it’s only “some” drivers that don’t notice us, but I’m anxious to give it a try to protect my girls and I.
I made my first attempt at doing something other than a “loaf” of bread and made baguettes. They are good for slicing in half and then lengthwise for sandwiches and are loaded with healthy flaxseed and rosemary.
I went to a beginner yoga class last Monday and it was much more suitable for me than the Vinyassa Yoga class I went to previously. However, the s-t-r-e-t-c-h-i-n-g and held poses (“Just breathe,” she said) were brutal and my stomach muscles are still sore.
I went to a Thai Bodywork appointment last evening and feel a bit looser than I did before the appointment. I think the things I enjoyed the most were the infrared heating pad I got to lay on and the smell of the steamed lemon grass, ginger, camphor, and anise that were pressed against my muscles before my limbs were stretched and squeezed.
But back to my writing, here’s a taste of where I’m heading. The photos are from February of 2009 (before the Big Bang). I bet for a minute there you thought we had a snow storm here. I wish!
I breathed in their dampness. Watched the steam rising. Blew into their noses and wiped the icicles from their whiskers. I like the feeling of the barn at this time of night. I feel safely tucked away from the demands of the office and the speed of life. I am comforted by the soft munching and woosh-woosh noise as muzzles burrow into and toss hay, looking for I don’t know what.
I may hate coming out in the cold and wind rather than hibernating inside the house as most people do during winter evenings, but I know I will always cherish these moments. I will always remember the safe feeling of the barn as the wind howled outside. I will always remember how I cooed to my horses as their ears flicked forwards and back at the sound of metal squeeking and branches scraping. I will always remember the body heat of my horses, the wet rich smell of them, their hot breath against my face and neck. I will always remember their appreciative looks as I tended to them and chipped away at the iceballs in their hooves that annoyingly turned steady flat feet into rocking horse bows.
I will always remember these moments and when all that remains are the memories, I will blanket myself in them, close my eyes and feel and smell and hear my horses as real as they are right now.