Wednesday. April 18th. 5pm.
I slide my hand along the contour of his back. The muscles under my palm are large and solid. They twitch and quiver, recovering for the previous hour’s exertion. Bringing my hand to the side of his face, we make eye contact and I wonder what he thinks of me as he turns his head away. Some call it crazy, and others call it useless. But I swear, those big, black eyes of his can see me. The fact that some sort of connection can be made between the two of us still blows my mind. But him and I, though vastly different, are both expressions of life. And that, if nothing else, deserves to be honored.
The door behind us swings freely on it’s hinges, opening and closing on the wings of the wind. Rain has begun to fall on the metal roof above, the sound of a million tiny tin soldiers marching into battle. Spring spins and twirls in the air and I inhale the smell of life. I let it fill my nostrils, plummet down the back of my windpipe and explode in my lungs with all of the vitality and essence that it can muster.
The horse beside me snorts and I watched as he playfully flaps his lips. He butts me in the shoulder with his nose and slides his face close to mine. I smile and press my forehead to his. Rubbing the puff of white in the spot between his eyes I laugh, “See Rupert, I knew you liked me.”
If life were to boil down to this one moment, you could bury me in the ground and return my body to the earth as one happy woman. Because if right here, and right now, isn’t enough – what ever would be?
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