Then I would not have felt the ocean-like rhythm of her rocking into me, who was leaning there against her while she grazed.
I would not have felt her choosing where to reach next as I accompanied her, lead line just loose in my hand.
And I would not have felt the simple, deep lift and pull of her spine and shoulders when she leaned long and forward, too lazy to lift a hoof toward that tuft of grass.
If I didn't have her, I would not have been able to return her gaze when she turned to look back for me.
I would not have been able to feel the delicious shiver that ran the length of her when she snorted in pleasure, nose deep in the last-gasp grass.
And I would not have been able to feel her lift herself back up to look at her world, nose skimming the breeze.
If I didn't have her, I would not have been able find my own silence, which I have been awaiting for some long months, or notice the lulling call of the winter train, whistling out our journeys to come.