Last night it lingered at zero degrees. The horses’ whiskers are beaded in ice, their breath a ghostly whisper. The cold seeps further than the physical, freezing my willpower to go be outside, where I love to roam.
Until I do. When I bundle, insulating myself from the frozen world, and face the forces of nature; I feel so very alive.
When the neighbor-boys, coats flapping, unzipped; duck through the weathered fence and climb aboard a bareback steed, we’re connected in the winter-wild.
Thank you winter.
I forgive you.
Now, can we call a truce?