Note: This was written in 2009, one year after Teddy left us.
Somewhere... somewhere in time's own space
There must be a sweet pastured place
Where creeks sing and tall grass grow
Some paradise where horses go
For by the love that guides my pen
I know great horses live again.
- Stanley Harrison
Firelight Flicker
4/22/1974 - 12/18/2008
It might have been three years, four months, and eighteen days since I said goodbye to you, but it has been one year since you have been gone physically and spiritually from this earth. It has been 52 weeks, 365 days, 21,900 hours, and 525,600 minutes. I cannot even begin to count the seconds.
While you might not have been here, you have definitely made yourself known at the most needed moments.
When I'm sitting outside in the sun with pieces of tack spread around me and a tin of saddle soap in front of me, I can imagine your soft snuffling behind me. When I pick up the browband of your bridle, it's easy to see the hair from your fine forelock and forehead caught in the stitches. For that brief moment, I reflect back to the blissful moments where I would scratch your bright, white blaze and see the hair floating to the ground.
When the horses are let up for dinner, I keep the gate open for a brief moment. I stand and wait for you to walk out. You might have been at the bottom of the pecking order in the geldings' pasture, but to me, you were king. A group of mares huddle around a hay pile, I know that spiritually, you're in the middle holding court.
On the hottest days of the summer, I sometimes think I catch a glimpse of your bright white blaze in the shade of the thickest tree.
Your tack has in general been retired, but when I use your bridle or saddle, I think any horse who looks through your bridle or carries your saddle must have you guiding him. I can see you in my mind's eye warning the horse to mind his manners or he will have to work harder than necessary.
When giving Bucky kisses and wither scritches, I lean in close and smell him. He smells nothing like you, but in my mind's eye, it's you that I smell - sweet hay with a tang of sweat. It was uniquely you.
After a difficult ride when a four year-old decides that he doesn't want to work and would much rather stargaze, I can't help but smile because for three years, I had the only horse in the barn who could read minds.
At every local horse show I go to, there is always someone or a horse that I recognize. How do I recognize them? You and I competed as a team against them. Some are still on their same mounts they were riding in 2004, some have moved on and gotten new horses, some ponies have new riders. Times change, and the short stirrup division is no longer ours. I can imagine you in your horsey heaven toting around a little girl in her first leadline class, while I pit my talent against other adult amateurs.
I haven't been to visit you yet, but I know the day I do, I will feel your solid feet, graceful gaits, and warm breath on my right hand. We will outrun the wind, you and I, if not in real life but in spirit.
Every now and then, I close my eyes and dream the dream of dreams. I see you and I. You carry me in death as you did in life.
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