This is the season of life. Look closely. It’s there… Slower to come to the high country, but stirring deep within. Ready to bloom when the snow melts. Not “if” that snow melts, as some days we may question, but “when.” It is not as far off as it may look. You’ll see.
Upon us now is the time to celebrate new life, and old. Today is Bob’s birthday, tomorrow Tresjur’s (Flying Crow’s first born, out of Tres two years ago now), the next day Flying Crow’s, and then on the first of April, Forrest’s. Somewhere in there we will be celebrating the birth of the new foal.
I’m getting impatient now, but it’s just my fears and anxiety speaking too loudly. The due date is the fourth of April, but last year Tres was two weeks early. I have lost confidence in my judgment when it comes to foaling. This has been a hard year. Has it been bad luck or bad choices, or just a year of learning hard lessons the hard way? We go through times like this, don’t we? I often wonder why. Why can’t it all be a bed of roses? Or perhaps it is. But sometimes we tangle in the thorns.
Tres will be the easy one. Four more colts are due later in this season, and I won’t even try to guess their due dates. Keeping the stallion out there with the mares makes it harder to notice when things get done. Unless it’s right outside my kitchen window, as was the case with Tres last spring.
It is odd to look forward to life so much, when I have been reminded this year how close death can be. I don’t mean to be morbid, only realistic. It is the only way I can make sense of these things sometimes. It’s certainly not “fair.” And I do not want to blame it on good luck or bad. Where does that leave us? Taking responsibility. Yes, but we can not blame ourselves for those things over which we have no control. Like bacteria in the soil… Where does that leave us?
I look to make sense of this all, and some days, my thoughts only become more tangled. Waiting, as I am right now, is a funny time. Too much time thinking, and probably not enough time doing. So I put unnecessary thought into everything I do, everything around me.
But then I can look out the window, the new light of the day opening up the view of the mountains cradling me and my family and my horses… and I question why I worry so. Why I put so much thought into thing which I wonder if they really matter. What does matter, after all?
“The Mountains are permanent and remind us of how temporary and insignificant we are.” (Written by Oscar Hijuelos)
I take solace in that harsh reality.
I think about what really matters. How trivial are my concerns.
Look around at these magnificent mountains.
How can I worry about the little things?