A morning at the barn

This morning I slid out of a warm bed, placed a chilly contact on each of my eyes and wondered if there really was anything outside, in the expanse of black velvet beyond the windows. In the remnants of the night, a flick of a few light switches revealed the driveway, some trees and the faint outlines of the fence railing. I pulled sweats on over my pajamas, slipped into my boots and aimed my footsteps toward the single orange, glowing beacon on top of the barn.

Once safely sandwiched between the exterior lights on the big, white house and the one in front of me, I leaned my head back and gazed up at the night. Stars. An entire, beautiful, twinkling sky of them, reminding me at once of camping up in the mountains. I searched for the ones I knew — Orion’s Belt, one of the Dippers — and allowed myself to feel at peace with being so small.

The solitude of that moment was pierced by the wails of sirens, reminding me of the rest of the world out there, moving both with and against the earth. Pushing, shaping, tearing down then supporting, restructuring, building, saving, bartering and blazing. A welcoming nicker from inside the red barn brought me back to my current purpose, focusing my attention on the the immediate hunger of the two bay horses and the two barn cats.

Once everyone was fully engrossed in their breakfasts, I set myself to the tasks of the morning. Mucking out the outdoor runs and the stalls, emptying water buckets, counting flakes of hay and distributing them into the field, making sure there was enough clean water in the trough. While picking through the contents of an outdoor run, I turned my back on the artificial light and trained my eyes toward the heavens, searching. The stars had been covered by a blanket of blue light — a gradient of cobalt to cornflower. As I escorted the big, younger horse to the pasture a few minutes later, I noticed that a cartoonish ice blue had pushed the deeper colors of night past the opposite horizon.

Sliding open the second stall door, I shared a breath of greeting with the old horse — a slow exhale to his inhale, the breath then returned to me. A special indentification of friendship, a sweet moment cherished for its length and breadth. Afterwards, I slid the leather halter around his nose and up over his ears, and lead him to join his buddy in the field. As I unbuckled the halter to set him free to the morning, he stood beside me for a moment. I scratched his withers and we both watched the silhouettes of trees emerge as a faint glow of buttercream warmed the horizon.

The large, russet brown equine head swung in my direction, a thank you for my attention on the oft itchy spot. The scent of sweet grass hay had dispelled our moment together, and as he ambled off into the pasture I secured the gate behind him, severing my connection to a natural world and inviting the sirens back in.