An indifferent wire and an unshaven fence both travel up the barren hill that lies at the bottom of my road. The cattle have ripped every last blade of dead grass from it. The blue sky and white cloud conspire as if to mock the hill, the fence, the wire, and the stubby fescue. ” What a magnificent day for shining and floating!” they comment with the help of a hot and gossipy breeze.
At the base of this tawny mountain, whose back looks like the deer which hide in her ravines, I reflect on my powerlessness to coax the rain from her boudoir and reveal herself. My spirits sag; my resolve, wanes.
Black Beauty looks to San Francisco and its delicious fog. His hooves heavy, he heaves a sullen sigh, looking for feed on a feedless promontory.
I whistle for my friends.
From across the way, they trundle down to greet me, the Clydes, full of love and hope. I reward them both with organic ( non GMO ) Honeycrisp apples.
We agree on many things: the oppressive drought, the luxury of our freedom, and our need for a nourishing pedicure.
I rub their velvety noses; I swat flies off their strong necks; I confide in them: ” Guess what? I can now do 5 push-ups!” They remind me of all that is strong, patient, glorious, and gentle.
The time comes to bid farewell for now. I encourage them and in turn, they provide fodder for my spirit.