Pacific Northwest days in the desert Southwest are a savored luxury. Yes, I whined about the cold, just a little. The rains began last night, booming skies splattered hard upon us. Friends reported hail, but none here.
Sleep was sweet, deep and dream-laden. When I rose above evaporating dreams at the less than early-bird hour of 7:15 am, the rains had dispersed. Lothar looked out the window at the blue skies and said, “It looks like it’s going to be a nice day!” “Not so fast, it’s the desert, things change on a wind and a whim,” I replied in my typical know-it-all fashion. Okay, I didn’t really say that, but it would have been cool if I had and certainly a tad more interesting than whatever cautionary platitude I bestowed upon him. Sure enough, the clouds galumphed into view and congregated quickly enough to splash us by 10 am. The rain continued throughout the day.
“Are you going to the horses?” I was asked this at least four times today. I didn’t go to the horses. I love going to the horses. On Monday I had a severe allergic reaction to the hay and I’ve been a little cautious since then. Yesterday I did go, and while I had hoped to get La Roca out for a little ride before the rains began, I ended up spending the time I had over there cleaning pens and dumping manure. I was kind of depressed about it, but took a deep breath. It’s been that kind of week.
I’ve needed to spend this week licking and chewing. The clinic this past weekend with Anna Blake got me thinking a lot about horses, writing, communication, my own being. I’m grateful for that, though seriously at the moment I’d like a dedicated block of “Fuck the hell off and leave me alone to cogitate” time. When I think about it, in part what I learned was that I need more “SHHHHHHHHH yerself and listen!” time. Which means stop thinking about it. At least for the moment. Which is more than what it sounds like. It is all the moment.