My first morning in my new home I woke to fog covering the trees in a soft blur. At the window I saw pastures stretching ahead. My new home backs into wetlands, a few yards wide, it seems. Beyond, a few acres of meadow where there are horses. There are five in all: one black, one brown, one white, and two pintos, one of which must have been born recently. They are all, in a word, beautiful. The black horse is a bit of a loner, but the brown horse adores the white horse. He (I’m guessing) follows her, and stands close, not exactly nuzzling, but at this distance I can’t be sure. She stamps her front leg, he stamps his back; their tails flick.
Dragonflies and tiny birds swoop in the autumnal heat, and the squirrel looks in the window, affronted, curious, who can say? Maybe he misses the cat who lived here. Near noon, three large ravens–okay, crows–noisily investigated an old nest. Today’s sunrise looked like a Rothko painting, but with many more striations.
I’ve backed into paradise; I’ve backed into it before, but never with a such a view.