So many signs of Fall in the air these days, especially in the mornings. Yesterday, it was 50* as I went out to feed animals before work.
A couple days ago, something happened that happens every year. It is one of my favorite markers of the passing of another year.
Until it happens each year, I don’t realize I’d missed doing it. I had to feed the horses by moonlight because it was still dark outside at 6 a.m.
There’s something special about pre-dawn moonlit mornings. Whippoorwill are active, calling to their mates. The horses give a gentle snicker when they see me step out onto the balcony; they want to make sure I know they are indeed there and awaiting breakfast rations. And the chill in the air hearkens Fall.
And so I go down the hill in the dark, exercising faith that I’ll not step wrong on loose rocks I can’t see and wind up on the ground. It happens sometimes.
Comanche always comes out to meet me. I like to press my face against his neck and breathe in his scent, but I know he is just waiting for me to get on with the greeting and begin the feeding instead. Snippy and Shasta stand by, older and more tolerant, but nonetheless impatiently waiting.
Finding black rubber food bowls in twilight or moonlight isn’t as easy as navigating the hill, though, and I wish there were little light beacons on them to make them easier to see.
Finally, food is dispensed to each and I head back up the hill. By this time the shroud of darkness is lifting and I can see.
These are the kinds of moments of my life that bring me much happiness and make me love it here so much. No traffic noise, no alarms and sirens, just nature.
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