Listening For God

I needed another horse like a hole in my foot.

A hole in my foot would be a lot cheaper, but another large beast occupies my pasture with a sorrel coat and white markings. Her name was Annie but my daughter changed it to Juliette. She is here.  The other two horses have accepted her, for the most part, being much too old and lazy to keep up with the rearing and prancing antics.

The stall work was peaceful today.  The warmth of the early spring day made me take my jacket off then my outer shirt.  I mucked manure in my long underwear.  I became sweaty and thirsty and much calmer.

The bales of straw were falling like flecks of gold from the loft as I was shoving them through the open walls.

The golden dryness sifting down like blades of dreams from a lost summer,
when the sun shone high
and green was all around and starlight fell like mists,
like God breathing diamonds into the deep-blue.

While spreading and smoothing the tufts of straw to become comfort on the still cold nights of March,
a singing rose up in the background:  a blending of birds that lent to the bare trees’ songs swaying down low and across the pasture. 

I listened to both for a long while and became something better for it; for my effort to show up and pitch into the moment, lifting more than forms, say praise and a deep breathing.

There is love in the labor, and transformation too, when God scoops up the moment in the palm of His hand.