But. It's also a day where I have commitments; I have a class in Sanskrit to attend and there's Gary, one of my horse partners in Desert Horse Yoga, who could probably use some time to just hang out.
Heading to the round pen, it's freshly turned, so no horse poops to smell and revel in, but it's soft and new. Gary rounds and rounds, nose to the ground, searching for his perfect spot. He finds it and down he goes, rolling on to his spine, turning from side to side, getting in three good spinal massages. He comes up easily, braces in the front, legs splay and he shakes from head to tail.
He strolls to the gate, picks at the lead rope, time to move on. So we go to the grassy area (quite the premium out here in the desert) and he gets in some good grass munching time before it's time to leave. How is it that just these horsey moments reach into the sadness in the cave of the heart, provide a little comfort?