Seasons

With every change of the seasons I cannot help thinking about Fame. In the spring it saddens me to see the green green grass and I miss sitting on the plush foliage and listening to the sound of my horse chewing as he enjoyed the fresh green blades. I miss the way he'd eat in a circle around where I was sitting, never wanting to be far from me. In the summer I miss brisk jogs on the path behind the barn as the sun filters through the boughs of the aspen trees. I miss the jingle of harness parts, the squeak of leather and the clatter of the buggy.

It's fall now and Fame would have just been putting on his winter coat. Plush and fuzzy, I'd complain that he looked like a moose , but love it anyway. I could spend forever brushing him, and stroking that soft silky fur while is head rested gently on my shoulder. He would sign deeply and in great satisfaction. In winter I would tuck my cold hands underneath his blanket and absorb his heat and his smell. He was like a ray of sunshine to bust through the winter grey. I would anticipate spring when I could spend copious amounts of time with a shedding blade. The dead winter hair coming off in clouds and little by little my sleek, handsome, red-bay horse would reemerge, leaving his moose guise on the ground.

I lived for these moments. It gave me a reason to crawl out of bed in the morning, to trudge through another lousy day at work. To lift that manure fork one more time even if I was past exhaustion. I didn't feel so forsaken and alone. I had friends at the barn who understood my passion, and recognized my gifts and talents. They didn't try to stamp out my fire for the sake of "usefulness".

When I was sad I'd escape to the barn for a while and come back settled. Now I just eat.

Fame made me a better me. I miss him.