Blah

The day had been long. Anger had drained her while exhaustion had eaten at her, all while she had been expected to keep a smile on her face. The day had culminated in a long walk, unplanned, in sandals, on pavement, at least a couple of miles, after sitting as the day chilled and rain threatened, for two hours waiting. She hated depending on other people. The sour feelings and animosity she felt when others failed her had never sat well in her soul. Often, in high school, she would choose to take on enormous projects on her own rather than have to depend on someone else. It was a sentiment she took to her adult life, the inability to depend on someone, to hand the reins of responsibility over. It tired her, because she did everything now on her own.



When she finally got home, the aged wood called to her, whispered her name. She didn't even bother with dinner, the call was so strong, but slid into her workworn boots, leather cracking at the spot where her foot bent when she took a step, mud caked on them. This, this was the right feeling. She could feel the anger leech through the soles of her boots at the smell of hay and manure mingling with lathered horses and hay.



The walk was simple, easy, even though her body ached from the unplanned miles, as though she were floating. It was always like this. She got the notion to go to the barn but never remembered the trip out there. Maybe because it was a routine as old as she was, this going to the barn, or because she was so focused on the goal, the velvety noses, the soft whickers and chuffs of greeting she would hear when she pulled the heavy door open. Mud tried to suck at her boots but she barely noticed it, undeterred.



He was first. This week had been the first time he had been first since his mother died. He spoke to her loudly as he heard her coming up the aisle. He greeted her and "talked" with her often, he was a very vocal equine. She had imagined if he had a human voice, he would never stop with the catcalls. "Hey honey, you're home!"



His soft golden coat gleamed under his stall lights and he pushed his nose against the crook of her elbow to say hello. He had always been demonstrative but as he'd aged she had had to put a curb on it, his enthusiasm could be dangerous and irritating by times. Today, she let him press his forehead to her chest and rest his nose against her stomach, comforting her.



When it was time to work, he put up the usual fuss. Wrapping his legs, he shifted and shimmied, trying to make it difficult for her. She moved as she always did, reprimanding, not unkindly, and eventually he was ready. He flashed under the setting sun as he worked circle after circle around her, muscles bunching and releasing under his silky coat. She thought to herself, "Yes, this is something I might be able to build a dream on."



Before she knew it, her ten minutes with him were over and she retired him to his stall. And then it was her.



She speculated that this mare had never been her first choice. She would not have pulled her off of a lineup before the colt's mother had died. The colt's mother had set a standard for every horse that would follow in her life. She struggled for over a year before she found the mare, waiting for her, just as she realized she had been waiting for the mare for a long year.



There was no work here, just the communing of friends who enjoyed spending time together. She worked away at the mare's coat, the long, loose hairs of winter still greedily clinging to what promised to be a polished ebony coat underneath. Her fingers quickly coating with horsegrease, tumbleweeds of old hair cartwheeled away from the coat, leaving a layer on the ground of enough hair to build another horse. Spring was her favourite.