I love my little spot in this world. I sit with my coffee and watch the Pine Grosbeaks eat their sunflower seeds on the birdhouse. Before anyone gets up, I sit and listen to the quiet snapping of the woodstove, as I give it a boost of air and it wakes up with me.
This morning I went down to feed my horses. A storm is coming, so I checked to make sure everybody (the three horses) is ready for the winds to come. The snow danced past my cheeks and tangled a bit in my hair. My breath mingled with my horse's breath as he took a bite of breakfast and then turned to regard me with his huge brown eyes and frosted eyelashes.
It occured to me as I stood there near Duvall, watching his mane toss a bit in the breeze, that there was nowhere else I would rather be. This spot in the world belongs to me, and I belong to it, and of all the places earth has to offer, my home and its surroundings are the closest kin to my soul. I drew in a deep breath and listened hard, and the only sound was the wind through the trees and the whisper of his quiet chewing..and I thought once again, this is my kind of silence.
This is my kind of silence...