Blue Roan Morning
Icicles cling to her dark muzzle, a frozen water trail left behind from the heated water bucket hanging inside her stall. Black lashes are frosty white, wintery mascara on my blue roan mare. The wind is fierce, burning my cheeks in the spaces not covered by pulled down hat and muffler; but, the sun is bright and the sky is a brilliant cornflower blue, dotted by fat white clouds high overhead. This is what draws my mare outside, away from the protected comfort of stall and shavings. I shove the wheelbarrow out into the deep snow covered pasture, and she walks calmly behind me. As I dump the contents, kicking the frozen layer clinging to the yellow bottom of the deep container, she watches me for a moment before leaping over an invisible barricade into winter. Her blue-black starkness draws my eye, and I allow myself the simple pleasure of watching my horse as she gallivants in the snow. It amazes me, the ground she covers in a single long gaited leap; how her thousand pounds becomes a...
