This morning the fog lays heavy around the mountain, draped with its opaque veil sensuously about the hills and valleys, allowing for the occasional glimpse of the high peaks, laced in the fresh snow of yesterday.
A freshness in the air, moist and weighty as I walk silently through the wet grass, about the sleepy ranch, to check on the babies. The mares, so alert in their heavy responsibility of motherhood, snort as they see a motion, then lower their heads and sigh as they recognize my voice.
Yesterday was a beautiful day, blessed with a new birth and the dazzling spectacle the mountain revealed with a snow storm at first light, shifting to intense afternoon sunlight, so warm on our backs or faces as we gathered around to watch the mares and foals.
The birthing was special, as I find each one to be, and hope I always do. This one was marked by my aloof and often distant mare, Willow, coming to get me as her time approached in the middle of the night. She stepped up and onto my porch and into my little fenced yard. In case I wasn’t paying attention… she told me… it’s time! I heard her heavy feet on the deck and came down to find her standing in the yard waiting for me. Under the soft light of the big moon behind the heavy clouds, I let her into the little garden, her favorite spot, where she is the perfect lawn trimmer, somehow always avoiding the raised beds and nibbling the grass right up the corners and boarders; went inside to check with Bob. We decided we would take no chances of allowing births this season where other “problems” had been. So I returned to Willow, and led her out of the garden, out of the little yard. We stopped just outside the gate. I put my hand on her chest and felt the warm, damp sweat that tells me she is ready. I stood and waited. Within minutes her water broke.
We were right outside of Beka’s window, so I shined my headlamp in to wake her. This would be the first birth she would witness. It is a miracle each time. We watched as the baby was born, so quickly I did not have time to wake the boys until mother and baby were resting relieved on the ground together.
Yesterday was more special because of the ability to share. It seems everything we do has more purpose, a stronger drive, a greater source, when it is beyond the “me” and for the “we.” If I can do something for you, isn’t that far greater than doing the same thing only for myself? The joys of giving, of sharing, or even of just opening up your world for another to rest in… somehow overshadows, though in a most bright and light way, the acts and actions themselves. Suddenly, there is a true purpose.