Time, like a river....

Two years later, and the rebuilding has begun of what was so long in tearing down. Miss Boo and Dime endured rehoming to wonderful places last summer; we endured failing health and subsequent financial crisis, a total restructuring of our lives, Doug and I. There remains no other direction to go but up, and, by the grace of God, we are all together in spirit and proximity. What we have lost are the things, the trappings of a life no longer part of us. We have lost some freedoms, yet are more free than ever before. Our souls have been turned loose to soar, rejoice and seek. So difficult, the letting go. Rusty's passing had taught the lesson of dignity and courage in the face of inevitablities well, and on reflection, his example was just one more tall, bright signpost on this journey we are on. When Doug began to show cognitive and neurological difficulties two years ago, it became clear he would no longer be able to continue to work. Inconsistent at best, his income ceased, leaving us unprepared for the future in any sense. I, in my insular world of passivity, gradually became aware that the complex decisions and circumstances before us were being shifted to my shoulders. Shoulders....strength....solidity. Boo. Who had found a new home with a dear new friend. Who decided she wanted to be with a herd, to be the busy-body she is. Who signaled to her new Mom in no uncertain terms that she wanted to come home. With the caring generousity of a longtime friend and fellow horseperson, Boo came back to town to a herd, to a job and to me. Her love and gentleness brought forth my tears when they needed to be shed, and she would hug me in her powerful neck, her deep eyes knowing, wise, accepting. This spring, when the grass was growing strong, Boo and several young mares and a few geldings, were turned out on the 50 acre hill the other side of the Hemlock Brook. Virtually on their own, this little group would venture down to the gate at feeding time, or when whistled in. On the days they chose to ignore my best attempts at calling them in, I would find them at the top of the steep hill, blissfully, lazily casually ignoring any percieved urgency on my part. Ah, but the days they did respond to my whistle provided a wonderous joy as their hoofbeats became audible on the hill. I, standing at the edge of the brook...more like a river... would suddenly spot Boo's sweet blaze and pricked ears, head up, in the lead as she cantered from the shadows, splashed across the river with her companions, to stop to nuzzle me as I awaited her in utter humility at the beauty of my beloved mare running freely to me.