The sun took tentative steps from behind February clouds this morning. A winter’s worth of mud conceded, retreated a fraction of an inch, not quite ready to admit the twitchings of little grass roots. Just today, horses play and tease, nibbling the hem of my jacket, back to life after months of bracing against cold.
Step into the barn. Quiet ~ then whooosh of tiny bird wings.
A flurry of curry combs, brushes, hoof picks and hay, then roll in the mud, shake, nicker and trot under a daring baby blue sky.
It’s coming, my lovelies. The breeze smells like a secret, bursting to be told. Until then, drink deeply, the sun on your face.
photos copyright Zen Doe