COMPLETE...

Sometimes you have to go away to be here. That's where I was today...away. I don't mean I left here physically. I left here in my head. I decided to live in my imagination. It was a no-talk day.

After John left early this morning for work, the words stopped. Everything I did outside with my herd was done in silence...all of the chores, the feeding and grooming, the interactions were without words. I have to do that ever so often because I love to talk! But that interferes with my concentration, with my "being" with the herd. I wanted to find my way to that Zen place that they go, without thinking about it.

At the core of this journey with Apache, Lucky and Willow is a need to find a spiritual connection back to the Earth. It isn't something I talk to other people about much. And that isn't because I'm worried about their reactions either. It has more to do with it being very personal to me. I belong to no organized religion. I'm not interested in teaching or saving anyone. I figure people will find their own way, according to their own path, to whatever place they need to be spiritually or religiously. I guess you could say I'm as much of a lone wolf in my beliefs as I am in most everything else I do in this world. I just plain, flat out like my own company.

The complication for me is that I love people too! And animals...in all their billion forms and shapes...I love them too. In fact, I love being here. So, for today, I had to leave to BE more here. I let myself drift through the day, getting things done as they came to me but in no particular rhythm or on anyone else's schedule. If it needed to be done, I did it. But the idea was to do it without thinking about it.

I'd wonder outside and sit on the top of their hill, watching the strange flat light that happens in February reflect off the top of the pond. It's melted now for the first time in two months and there's the tiniest haze of green trying to reappear. I heard the birds. They're beginning to come back. I listened to a cowbird make it's funny gulping kind of a sound in the top of the locust tree, next to the pond. And the wind moved in the branches, making them click together like thousands of little old ladies knitting. I could almost hear the tiny twigs talking to each other, but there were so many conversations all at once it was too confusing to understand.

Then I'd go inside and sweep the kitchen floor, but slow and easy. There was no rush. And the sound of the broom on the floor was like a whisper, but too soft to hear what was being said. "Shoosh...shoosh...shoosh." And then out I'd go to sit on the salt block under the eaves, next to the barn where the sun was hitting the wall. It has a dip in it where the horses have licked that fits me just right. I sat there with my knees up and my chin resting there, with Apache standing over me half asleep, resting his chin on the top of my head. He'd sigh, then I'd sigh. We were there, breathing together and going no where.

The world didn't exist except right where we were, in the moment, breathing together. I didn't cry or laugh. I didn't sing or dance, paint or draw. I was. And they were too.

We wondered in and out of the gate, laid down in the grass, wondered around the edge of the pond together. I went in to eat or to sit, quietly, on the worn out sofa...right in the dippy part where the springs are broken, the part the fits me like a salt block. And the cat went to sleep in my lap and Joe curled up next to me with his head on my knee. He'd breath and I'd breath, in and out together. We were.

I didn't watch a clock. I didn't need to. I knew what time it was by the way the light moved up the wall, making patterns with the blinds. I knew what time it was when I was laying on the top of the hill too. I'd wondered to the south side where the sun was warm, where I'd watched Lucky take his naps. He's one of those horses that loves to eat, loves to sleep, loves to be. He came over and laid down with me. We both stayed there for as long as we wanted to, while the sun was warm, and watched the sky change color.

There were no clocks ticking, no phones ringing, no schedules to be met. He'd sigh and stretch. I'd sigh and roll over close to him, not touching but close enough to feel his warmth against my back. When he stretched out I felt his head rest along my back. He'd breath. I'd breath. We both closed our eyes. My ancient dog, Gypsy, curled up between my arms resting her head on my shoulder like she used to when she was young enough to jump onto the bed at night. It was our secret pleasure together. And, for a while this afternoon, we found it again. We all were.

When Lucky got up, I knew it was time for grain. He "told" me. We walked in together, in sync, legs moving in our own rhythm. Gypsy walked with us. Lucky kept it slow enough for her to keep up. For this afternoon she was one of the herd and Lucky always takes good care of his herd mates.

I fixed grain for everyone, even Gypsy. She loves having one of the Winnie's Cookies that I put on top of the bowls as a treat. I stood there and listened to that lovely sound of horses munching and crunching, sighing and breathing. I wasn't thinking. I was. It was complete.

I am so at Peace.

I am, ever yours, quietly...Nancy