I'm sitting inside while my husband supervises the hoof trims being done this morning. Round two of this very nasty cold is being ... nasty. Thankfully my husband and son are on the upswing now, while daughter and I catch up.
Tomorrow we will get up near 50 degrees so hopefully the still very slick sheet of ice in much of our driveway will finally melt, and we can get on with a more normal for the season temperature.
A few weeks ago I was out at the barn, in weather that seemed gloriously moderate compared to what we've had since, and as I got horses ready for their evenings, I noticed the sky was the most gorgeous shade of delicate pink.
It was the pink of a particular antique rose bush that climbed up and over the old "barn garage" that sat out back behind a beautiful old house my parents rented for a few years when I was in college. The roses were the palest pink I've ever seen, and were simply beautiful.
The sky, in that pink color, with the black silhouettes of bare winter trees in front of it, was breath-taking. It was a sky that changed every few seconds, and I wanted the camera but knew if I went in to get it, I'd miss the whole thing. And then it changed past the pink so I decided to get the camera and see what else might happen.
The horses, donkeys, and Dickens the cowboy cat are very accustomed to me stopping all work and standing to watch something. Often enough they will stop and watch with me, which is always touching - isn't that what we all want, really? Someone to admire what we admire, in silence borne of complete understanding?
We were all quite taken by the trees of fire that formed as we stood in the arena together. A beautiful show, and we were there to see it.