There's No Cryin' in Writer's Groups (until I showed up)

This morning when I walked Presley, I heard her!  In a light drizzling rain as my dog and I walked toward the road, I heard my neighbor's horse whinny.  I smiled as I pictured the smallish roan mare leaning over her fence, waiting to be fed.

We have lived here over a year now.  When we first moved, I discovered that a neighbors kept a young mare in her yard.  I was thrilled.  This neighborhood is almost rural although we are close to the lake and close to very expensive lake real estate.  Finding a horse living so close to me was an unexpected blessing.  Most of y'all know how much I love horses.  That love goes way down deep in my soul and although I do not own a horse at this time, I will always dream about them.

When we lived in Blue Ridge, in the North Georgia mountains, I walked at the county park around a one mile track that followed a small creek and circled baseball diamonds and soccer fields.  Across the creek was a farm.  When we made the difficult decision to leave Blue Ridge and move from the most wonderful place I have ever lived, I wrote the following essay.  I hate to be a crybaby, but when I read this at a writer's critique group I attend, I couldn't finish reading it aloud. I forgot that there's no cryin' in writer's groups!  I wanted to share it with y'all.

All This I Will Miss...

Early morning walks at the county park where the walking path circles the ball fields, the sounds of recreation stilled for now.  The path follows a creek three-fourths of the way around; during dry times it is a picturesque bubbling brook, sliding over creek rocks as it winds through the valley.  In wet seasons, it turns into a roaring thunder of mud-colored water, obliterating tranquility as it rushes past my steady gait.

The parks department recently paved the path making the mile a smooth, flat course.  Now I share the path with mothers and strollers, youngsters on small bicycles or scooters, and the occasional jogger.

And always walkers with dogs, all sizes and breeds.  My dog is afraid of other dogs so I have to warn my fellow walkers that mine is not dog-friendly.  To humans, especially children, she invites pats and kisses.  My warnings makes me seem unfriendly too as I watch the other dog walkers recognize us and scurry to the far side of the wide walkway as we pass with just a nod or a small wave.

Across the creek is my escape from the quicksand of my life.  As I walk, my worries and troubles are put aside for a few precious minutes as I look across the creek to a gently rolling pasture where horses graze in the lush green field.

At first I was amazed that no fence defined their border; magnificent creatures freely roam along the creek side.  Now after several years of watching the small herd, I realize in this case, the grass is not greener on my side.  My side is loud in the mornings with yard maintenance equipment; their shrill motors running tractors and week eaters.  And loud in the afternoons when the hundreds of players and their entourages arrive to play soccer or baseball or softball or football.

Many times I have stood still to gauge the depth of the creek.  Could I jump across?  Could I wade across?  Could I leave my human world and leap into the peaceful pasture with this beautiful herd of horses?

The red chestnut with the wide white blaze down her face raises her head as I whistle to get her attention.  She gazes evenly at me while my small dog is afraid of that these are really very large dogs.  The mare and I make eye contact and she shakes her head, her flaxen colored mane flopping around her neck.  Her mane is matted with small sticks and grass and she ducks down to scratch her head on her leg. Then she returns to her grass, grazing and slowly moving across the pasture, leaving me and my dog on the human side of reality.

I watch the small herd of horses graze their way toward the far reaches of their pasture, their soft nickers are familiar as the bay gelding calls to the palomino whose pale gold coat has been lightened from the warm sunshine.  One blows and the other snorts, startling my dog who is unaccustomed to the horse noises of contentment.  I smile.

Then I continue on, around the path, but I turn back several times to see that they are still there and not a wonderful dream.  In my dreams, I am a carefree and happy child, riding the red chestnut mare, galloping across the grassy field.  The wind in my face makes my eyes water.  As I cross over to the parking lot, I wipe my face, perspiration or maybe tears cloud my vision.  We are moving this weekend.  We are moving and leaving this wonderful place of my dreams.  All this, I will miss.