Coming Home

I didn't realize until I sat down to type that I paused my horse journal just about a year ago. Not that years can frame anything, but it's as if I must have known it was practical to step away for so long. I didn't know it was because all my loves, interests, wants, needs would have to be pushed hard to the margins of my life for a time, but that's what happened. That's what change demands, especially when it's the deeper thing of knowing it is going to happen but not knowing that you know. It's hard enough to hear that voice, then harder when you begin to listen. It became a roar, though, deafening in my head, when I finally did listen, and eventually I made everything step away until I could step through into something new. I'm still stepping through and will be for a while. But "new" isn't the right word.

 

My beautiful mare is well. She's a bedrock boundary of my identity, claiming her place and bringing me back from the periphery. Horses can be incredible anchors through change. They manifest a familiarity that is never false, even when you suspect you are. Because she recognizes me, I am and will be. Eventually, it will feel more natural, and just in time.