Several years ago now, we fostered a pregnant miniature horse named Gypsy. Because she was a rescue, we didn’t know her exact due date. We guessed, and when she remained stubbornly pregnant, we guessed again. This vigilant watching and waiting went on for months until finally, on a cold March morning, little Miss Stormy was finally born. To say that we were thrilled is an understatement and we were not alone; all the creatures on the farm wanted to meet Stormy. What I remember most about that sweet time of introductions is Stormy’s trusting curiosity and the gentle openness of the tribe in greeting her.

Something new entered my life recently, something which, like Stormy, was both anticipated and overdue. I think this Stormy memory swept through me because of that similarity and to give me the chance to benefit from the wisdom buried within it. I do not want to do my usual thing here, which is to charge forward, all cylinders. I want to emulate the tribe and greet with gentle openness. There is so much to learn in doing things differently.

Day 49

Writing about what sings to me from a life made full with animals.

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