If I’m not listening closely, I can miss it.
It’s deep and quiet and rumble-y…like a train you hear rolling down the tracks from miles away on a clear night or a Night Train of the Harley Davidson variety starting up a block down the street.
It originates from deep inside his belly and reverberates through his big barrel chest. It seems to bypass his throat entirely and exits through his soft muzzle, the air escaping and making his nostrils bounce almost imperceptibly. Read more…
Even if you don’t ride horses, I bet you can:
He comes unbeckoned into my brain sometimes, an old man whom I hardly knew, born in the late 1800s and who lived most of his life on his ranch in southern New Mexico. The name Isidore Davila is spoken with quiet reverence in my family; most of us refer to him as Grandpa Davila. When I think of him, he morphs from the old man I remember, even though I was only three years old, to a young vaquero, out gathering his cattle in the mountains. The snow is swirling around him, his head, and the head of his horse, tucked down against the wind as they walk into a blizzard.
He was of the old cowboy ways, the homesteaders and ranchers who had little to sustain them other than the work they were willing to put into their land. It is said they worked an 8 hour day: eight hours before noon and eight hours after. Read more…
Man, he’s a little snorty and fussy today.
Wow, he sure is muscular. Yikes. Especially his running and bucking muscles.
Oh, look at that. He pinned his ears at the saddle.
Speaking of saddles, why did I decide to pursue English riding again? There’s nothing to hold on to if things go wrong… Read more…
Dear Woman,
Even a weed knows to turn its face towards the sun. The dandelion looks east and the Lamb’s Quarter opens its dark green leaves to allow the light to touch every spot. The wild sage fills the air with the music of its scent when warm. They instinctively look for brightness, seeking warmth on their faces, and they turn it into air.
And so why do you seek out the dark? Dwell on the sadness? Why do you stand in the shadows of trouble while it blocks out the light?
Tomorrow worries about itself. Never fear that. People will still shoot each other and say horrible things about each other and there are plenty of people to gleefully report this on a 24 hour news cycle.
Tomorrow doesn’t need you to worry and fret and be squashed by its ugliness; and neither does today, for that matter.
Today needs you to find the nearest flower or weed, observe it, and orient your face in the same direction. It needs you to pay attention to the lovely, the miraculous, the tiny bits of art in the quiet places.
It needs you to sing like the robin and float above the chaos like the clouds, cooling what is overheated and sprinkling cool rain drops on what is parched and making shapes at which children will laugh and exclaim.
The dust and dirt kick up and choke those around you. But you, dear woman, are a crisp drink of water, infused with lemon and honeysuckle and apricot, cleansing the palates of the thirsty.
Do not be a stone, sinking into the sand, being dragged down by the gravity of the universe.
Be the bubbles rising joyfully in the glass of vintage prosecco, tickling the tongues of those who dare to take a taste of you.
Seek joy. Allow joy. It’s ok.
Sometimes I think that if I wake up to one more face lined with grief and agony, that I’ll lose hope…that if hardness and meanness is all that’s left of the human soul, I will fall on my knees and beg to be taken from the inhumanity of this world. Read more…
Don’t call me a princess. Treat me like your Queen.
I have my own horse. I don’t want to ride on the back of yours.
Give me a cowboy hat instead of a tiara and work alongside me in the sun as it shades my face. Read more…
You see your chubby thighs; I see beautiful eyes.
You see a slow runner; I see strength at the barbell.
You see a mom who’s impatient in the morning; I see a fun-loving flexible mom in the afternoon.
You see last place on the bike; I see unmatched determination.
Monkey mind. Circus brain. Unsettled. It’s that feeling I get when there are so many competing tasks and ideas happening in my head that I become paralyzed…unable to think at all. Read more…
As she stands carefully sorting her basket full of groceries into three separate piles, impatience begins to rise in my chest.
I am tired and hungry.
I am in wretched, smelly gym clothes.
I am in the express lane with well under the 20-item limit.
I take a deep breath and begin to fiddle with my phone, distracting myself from my irritation. Read more…