Savor the Quiet Moments

All I'd intended was a quick trip outside to feed the equines and maybe give Thor, the mighty barn cat, some belly rubs. Mesa was eating at the gate feeder. It was quiet inside the barn. Not silent, but quiet, as Nick devoured his soaked alfalfa pellets and old man feed. I decided to leave the big door open and pick out stalls, get things set for the next time the animals needed to be sheltered for a night. 

As I stood in Mesa's stall, shaking out the medium pine shavings, I heard gentle hoof falls in the padded aisle. Soon, Mesa's shaggy forelock was peering in at me. The giant yellow wheelbarrow was between us, but I noted an almost wide enough space for her to enter if she chose. I worried that perhaps the handles could catch her, hang up on her blanket, but rather than panic, I simply held up one hand as a 'no' to my horse. Her dark eyes watched me, seemed to take in the situation, and she simply blew out her breath and stood watching me as I continued to work in her stall. After a few more minutes, she slowly turned and headed back out of the barn. I emptied the wheelbarrow, pushing its bulkiness past Mesa where she stood just outside the doorway. When I returned, she was standing in the aisle, her rump to the open door. Despite the clinking of the barrow, she stood and watched as I pushed past, walking to the far end of the barn before turning again to face me, where I now stood in front of the donkeys' stall. Nick was still munching away, while Red tried to snag a bite of hay, nonchalantly remaining beside his antagonistic brother. With the door open, I made my way into and out of the stall, shaking and dumping, talking to Mesa quietly as I worked. 

Like a wave on a lazy Lake Michigan summer day, feeling rolled slowly over me and a sense of peace and contentment settled in my heart. Mesa's eyes were calm, her head relaxed, and there was an aura about her as she watched. Such a simple, quiet moment, I thought. Don't take these little moments for granted, I reminded myself, and fought the urge to leave immediately and write it down, to savor for later perusal. Instead, I leaned against the pick fork, smiling at my mare. Such a soft, bonding moment, and I thought of how precious it was, how rare. I heard 'the softness comes from inside' in the smoky whiskey tinged voice of my old friend, and felt so blessed by so many things that had brought me to this single sensation inside my old red barn.

Savor these small times for the gifts they are to us. Permit your heart to settle and your breath to come in deep, cleansing ins and outs. 

This moment burnished my insides, and I carried it with me as I finished, as I rubbed Mesa's face before I left, and as I sit here now, writing. The wind gusts and blows furiously outside, but here, I have my quiet moment to cover me in calm and joy. 

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