I find that I do a great deal of my writing at night. It isn't on purpose. I'd rather be snuggled up in my warm bed, resting up for a full day's work. Alas, I haven't been blessed with an abundance of sleep tonight. My mind is restless, and it refuses to let me relax. It's now 1:30 in the morning, and I must get ready for work in less than seven hours. It is snowing outside, so I'm concerned about how the road conditions will be in the morning.
Such nights send my thoughts bouncing like a rubber ball shot out of a paintball gun into a concrete room. I'm sad to say that these aren't always happy thoughts. Often, like tonight, it's just the opposite. I think of the things that worry me, the things that I have done wrong, and the things that I wonder if I have done wrong. I worry that our house won't ever get ready for sale, and we will be stuck in our current loop forever. I rehash some of the things that bother me most, like a comment made by a family member or a situation that, in spite of my best efforts and intentions, has no remedy. I was thrown for a loop the other day when an in-law, who I previously believed had a positive attitude toward me, told me that he only wanted to stop by my house if my husband was there. I don't think about it 24 hours a day, but it was hurtful, and it still hurts. Funny how these things come back at the strangest times, like when I need to sleep.
At times like this, I think of the horses I used to have. I used to feed them twice a day, and if possible, I would also groom them and hang out with them for hours at a time. On many occasions, I would stay with them until the sun went down, just for the sake of their company. I loved how quiet and peaceful they were. Their sound, scent, and demeanor was soothing, and it made me feel like the world was okay. It was marvelous how they accepted my presence.
They were draft crosses. They weren't gigantic, as far as draft crosses go. The tallest one may have been sixteen hands. They did have big feet, wide chests, and placid demeanors. They were a mama and her baby, and products of the PMU industry. The mama loved it when I brushed her shoulders. She enjoyed attention, but she especially enjoyed when someone paid attention to her shoulders. The baby wanted to be scratched on her chest, belly, back, rump, or really anywhere. She was a sociable horse, and sometimes, if there were more than one person in her pasture, she would stand as a part of the group, just as if she wanted to be a part of the conversation. In those cases, she didn't want to be scratched or fed. She just wanted to be included.
Both of them would eat their hay, their teeth chewing rhythmically without a hurry or a care. I never felt that they were ignoring me. It always seemed like they were watching me with their large, dark eyes, turning their heads so they could see me and keep an eye on what I was up to. Somehow, this felt like an acknowledgement. Those gentle beasts made the world seem like a less harsh place.
It can be good to remember those times. In their way, my horses accepted me. It's nice to remember how that feels when the rest of the world seems cold and dark.
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