Horizon line in soft snow
Hope. There is always hope.
And it is up to you, up to me. I can’t give it to you, and you won’t pave the way for me. But maybe, just maybe, we can hold hands and get through it together. I remember running through the sprinkler on the slippery lawn as a child. The spray of the water was so cold, a thing to fear and desire at the same time. And my sister and I would hold hands and then it would be a wild adventure we would take on together, running straight at it with the comfort of each others strength beside us.
Yesterday I read, “… fate kicks you in the gut, then turns around and gives you a tummy rub. That, my friend, is life.” (J. Thorson in Horse & Rider magazine)
Unwanted tears swell in my eyes as I read this. I think about a truth that at times I wish was not. I wonder why life can not be more like a fairy tale. Think Cinderella; you get the tough stuff over with, and then are allowed to live happily every after. Nope. Not in real life. What’s with all these ups and downs?
And yet if I refuse the ups and downs, I refuse the richness and beauty of life which surrounds us, and isolate myself in protection, remaining apart, blind to the brilliance. I consider the splendor of tear descending a soft, dry cheek. The twinkle of an eye with a secret sense of humor. The gentle curve of a smile, and the intrinsic pull this has on one’s heart. Life is indeed lovely in all her magnificent moods.
We could play it safe and stand on the shore and watch as the tide comes and goes. Instead, I choose to dive in. At times, this leaves me drowning. Other times I am as free and fluid as the playful dolphin teasing the sparkling surface at sunset. And then silently I sink into the depths and withdraw to the deep darkness like the Sperm whale.
fresh snow on Pole Mountain
After three days of snow, three feet on the ground, having been snowed in for three months, and still figuring on a couple months left to go… the hens begin to lay. Forrest returns from his evening chores with two beautiful brown chicken eggs.
And this, my friend, is a handful of hope.
Hope.
I want life to be easy some days, and some days it is. The next day it won’t be. Usually it’s a roller coaster, isn’t it? At times I feel the best we can do is strap in and enjoy the ride. (“How do you drive this thing?)
Tres is due to foal in just over a month. Soon I will lead her off the mountain in all this snow, somehow, perhaps over the packed snowmobile track early in the morning when the snow is still hard. It will take hours to walk out. Perhaps all morning. Perhaps all day. I will enjoy the time with her. I will talk to her and we will walk together, and she will be fine, comforted in my presence as she has trusted me for years. And then, I will miss her, miss her birth, but hopefully allow her a healthy foal.
Crow will suffer more than me. Of all his mares, Tres is his favorite. She is everyone’s favorite. She is their leader. And she will leave them, temporarily, for the hope of new life.
Hope.
We do what we have to do. We stop whining. We start hoping.
a light load, a heavy load