It’s not the same out there. The horses stand around the round bale and come to the gate when I show up in hopes of an apple or feed; the two cats are either asleep in the afternoon sun or curled up together in the house; Sunny is wiggling in circles in hopes for a walk to the pond; Doc stands at his pen waiting for his feed or a mare.
It’s too quiet, too still. The wind blows through the trees but only the emptiness can be heard across the 80 acres. I couldn’t walk today. I cried yesterday when I went to the north pasture. No Mickey running ahead darting in and out of the forest, sniffing this and that, and rolling in the dirt. The pond is my favorite place and I just could not go there today.