Hustle, horses and hunger

A new job and a cold morning create an evergreen lesson on waiting for goodness

Old Man Winter has been cranky this year, lots of storming in and out and slamming doors. But we have the first drought-free season in five years in this part of Oregon, so I guess I shouldn’t complain. This week we had an unexpected, terrifically wet and blustery storm. Lady Spring had just begun poking her head out, we smelled her in the air and felt her light touch on our cheeks, but alas, Winter grabbed hold of her by the hem and drug her back, leaving us to his final, flailing tantrum of cold, coating the trees with frozen fury and making the ground, which had been shyly coming back to life, retreat again into muck.

So I fed my horses in the round pen today, because I was just thinking about giving all of us a workout, but there Winter had to go and spoil it with his bluster. The footing in my round pen is soggy and slimy, unsafe for actual play. But I’m hopeful that their hooves will churn up the ground and give all of us something to stand on, and the hay they leave behind afte…