Horse Power~ part 1

Duchess and Chyna

there are times when windows open and you must pass through. even if you don't know where they will lead or why exactly you need to drop everything and follow the cracks of light suddenly seeping through your ordinariness. most times, in following the cracks of light you become flooded with sensations that stand on the very edge of definition. in your natural tendency to name everything, you think you might be able to label the sensation joy. perhaps rapture. certainly bone-deep delight.

these windows seem most inclined to pop open when you have a hunch and no expectations. when you can be fascinated by the simple cracks of light and need nothing beyond that shimmer. when you hold the nonsensical notion of draft horses in a small pocket of your brain, for instance, and hold that notion for years, not having the foggiest clue what these horses can mean to an ordinary and recently painful life, you might suddenly, inexplicably find yourself on the cusp of a pasture teaming with 30 drafts. the chain on the gate becomes your window and dreamlike, you are led directly into the thick of the herds. 

despite having held these hulking beasts in a corner of your brain, you are very uncomfortable with horses. you describe yourself as afraid of the equine culture. but you let the chain slip off the gate, let the window open and do something about it. you trust. and to your speechless surprise that trust is rewarded as the white ambassador singles you out for a greeting. 

you hear the woman in charge of the herds yell to you, "that's iron mike" and you swear another voice piggy-backs hers and says, boldly, "he is a representative of the archangel michael." but you can't be quite sure because you aren't all that familiar with angels, yet you decide to believe it on the spot because the horse is a shire, after all, and quite possibly the largest, most gentle creature you've met.

he sways you past your fears in an instant with his easy manners and over-sized head waiting to be rubbed. you feel something within you shatter, dwarfed as you are in front of him. you pet him and thank him and leave the shards of your fear in the manure. you go forth and walk amongst the herds, flanked at times by 16, 17, 18 hands high horses, your heart having found some peace and a home.

{Blue Star Equiculture, Palmer, Massachusetts}