waking to neighing and dreaming short stories

Two nights ago I was wakened by neighing. I woke up, not sure I'd really heard the sound, when Salina neighed again, right outside the bedroom window. I woke my husband, who went out to check the barn. The neigh had been very clear - come out now.

My husband found we'd left the gate to the front field open. The geldings had discovered it and went out for a middle of the night frolic. Salina wisely woke me up and they were led back to their paddock and the gate closed.

I'm a sound sleeper, a vivid dreamer, except if something's wrong. How perfect that Salina knows that about me. Aside from everything else, it charms me completely that Salina's paddock extends far enough that she can actually come to my bedroom window and neigh.

Last night I dreamed of a friend's apartment in Paris. Somehow I had visited her without a current passport, and was worried that my old one would be checked and found lacking on my return to the US. Crazily, in the dream, I thought, oh well - the worst that can happen is I'm stuck in Paris! I imagined briefly what it would be like to live out my life there.

Most of the dream involved looking room by room at the lovely apartment. The living room was small but with very high ceilings and a huge window that led out into a quite large back yard. The yard sloped up to a rock face, around which were planted many blooming, dripping perennials. A corner of the yard sloped down to a small pond, and my friend explained that she was still working on designing a terraced dock, with places where she would plant ginger grass. I suggested dwarf-sized fruit trees which would hang over the pond so that she could row beneath them and pick fruit in its season.

Back inside, she had papered one wall in many sheets of thick, jewel-toned paper edged with lace. It made a rich block of color that reflected onto the rest of the room. The kitchen was simple but stocked with the utensils one needs to make a good meal. On the other side of the kitchen was the front door which led right into the busy Paris street. The room had nice windows for people-watching, and I wondered if she might turn it into a writing room - or would the activity outside be too distracting. I stood for a moment in the window and watched the people pass.

Up the stairs a gorgeous crimson and cream carousel horse was suspended by a cord. The movement of air as I walked up the stairs caused it to turn slowly in a circle. The bathroom too was tiny but functional. On my way back down I marveled that the horse had transformed into a dolphin. This was apparently a special feature of this hanging art - it transformed for each ascender and descender of the stairs into a symbol just for them.

The stairs shifted near the bottom to a second stairway that led to the bedrooms. My friend's bedroom was like being underwater - many shades of blue hung from the ceiling: small sheets of silk and sateen fabric. It was quiet and peaceful and she decided to lie down for a nap. Two other friends were resting as well, but not asleep. I made my way to the guest bedrooms, small but perfectly adorned with antique quilts and warm lamps and thick pillows.

On my way back through the first bedroom, my friend's sister arrived to greet us. She was very tall, an older, very elegant French woman who came to us in turn, held our faces in her hands, and divined without a word from any of us who each of us were and what we had come to Paris to discover about ourselves.

Someone noted the beautiful antique parasol she carried, and as she opened it to show it off, it crumbled, and the quaint old Paris she represented seemed to crumble with it. Suddenly she transformed into a wild-haired, temperamental artist, who stormed into the guest bedroom to rest.

In the end to the dream, the two sisters slept, one peacefully, the other restlessly. The worry about my passport faded in the moment, and I breathed out a small sigh of relief and decided to enjoy the visit, now that I knew why I was there.

(It's probably relevant to know that my birthday is on Leap Day, and I have one coming the end of this week. I was in Paris for my sixth real birthday, a journey that I made alone and which represented my first real step forward as an adult in the world. The first night in Paris I had a panic attack and suffered a case of head-to-toe hives. But then I woke up, looked outside the tiny window, and made the choice to discover something new about myself in a new city. This Friday will be my 12th real birthday. I suspect this dream marks some changes between then and now.)

sidereal time

This morning I climbed the stairs to the writing garret, plugged in my laptop, and began to review the research notes and plot notes I've been making on the second novel revision. I quickly found myself reading about sidereal time, in which the day is marked using the hour angle of the vernal equinox rather than the sun. Star time, it's called, and the very idea sent my mind spinning in all sorts of mystical directions. The idea that a sidereal day is four minutes and some odd seconds shorter than a solar day has me wondering, in my non-mathematical way, what happens to those four minutes. Somehow, star time must make up for those lost minutes in magic or mystery or simply radiance of the moment.

With all this in mind, I went downstairs to get ready to feed horses and donkey. I'd just read Victoria's Teachings of the Horse post about her zen horse Silk, and had commented that my two older horses, Keil Bay and Salina, sometimes meditate in the sun as well, noting that they do it in the morning after feed/hay, and often again in the afternoon, at two different spots in the field.

As I walked into the bedroom, I was stunned to see through the open mini-blinds, Keil Bay, Salina, and Cody lined up three abreast, gazing over the house into the morning sunlight, totally still, entranced. Rafer was lying flat out asleep beside Salina, and Apache Moon was standing similarly entranced in the copse of trees behind the horses.

I've never seen such a thing, their lining up like that, much like Muslims praying to Mecca, but praising instead the morning sun after a chilly night. I stopped and stood in the bedroom, trying to figure out how to get my camera without disrupting the scene. In the next second I knew this was one of those scenes that would never make it to a photograph. It lives only in the moment.

I stood and breathed. And then without even thinking what I was doing, whispered "Keil Bay."

He came out of the trance, shook his head, pricked his ears toward the window (there is no way he could have seen me) and then did his Yoga Bay deep bow in my direction.

This little scene lasted just about four minutes. We're following star time on November Hill today.

serendipity

I woke up this morning wondering if I would really stick to my plan to tuck myself away with second novel ms pages, research books, and my own revision notes, and dig into the rewrite.

As usual, I check in with email and blogs first thing. And what I found has been so perfect in focusing my day back to my commitment to do this writing work, I want to share.

I'd been waiting to bestow the Blog of Excellence award because it's so easy to dispense with that kind of thing quickly and without much thought. But this morning it's clear and I'd like to give it to two wonderful bloggers: Kyle Kimberlin and Wenda Nairn.

Kyle's blog, metaphor, is a wonderful mix of poetry, news that's truly interesting, and the beauty in a simple yet profound day.

Wenda's blogs, Daring To Write and Loving What Is, use words and images to evoke and inspire.

I'm not doing either of them justice in my descriptions, so please click on the links and go see them for yourselves. They are truly Blogs of Excellence.

And Kyle and Wenda, if you'd like to put the award image on your blog, just scroll down to my blog post titled Blog of Excellence and click on the image.

I'm going to be working as much as I can today on my revision, and during moments of pause when I need to revive myself, I'll be visiting these blogs to do so.

rain, reading, minuet in three

We've had a cold rainy day here, with horses confined to stalls and paddocks, and the geldings with access to the arena for some frolic.

I've alternated between keeping stalls mucked out, hay supplied, waters cleaned, and reading. (toss in some fixing of lunches and tea and laundry) The Ice Soldier, by Paul Watkins, is an engaging novel about a WWII soldier who comes to terms, years after the fact, with his participation in the war. Elizabeth George's Write Away is an interesting book on writing written by a novelist who shares both her journal entries and her process.

The postwoman brought the last of an enticing selection of books I'd ordered for novel research, and I've got them on the coffee table in a nice stack where they're lying in wait for my greedy eyes.

An hour or so ago, the rain broke long enough to let Salina and Rafer wander the barnyard and barn aisle while I played with Cody and Keil Bay in the arena. The pony opted to watch, his loss, since I was doling out butterscotch horse treats!

Keil Bay and Cody danced with me, not quite the minuet but I like the way that sounds. To my surprise, even though they knew I had the butterscotch treats in my pocket, they were willing to walk, trot, twirl in circles, and back in unison along with me. We lowered heads together and then raised them high, crossed forelegs and stepped under behind, and trotted the arena in single file. My favorite part was having them trot on either side of me, each one keeping the proper space and not crowding in, one of those moments of grace I might not be able to reproduce if I tried. But on this cold, wet afternoon, with fog rolling in, it was perfect.

Tonight we have new episodes of Angel, A Passage to India, and Jane Savoie's "Happy Horse" DVDs to choose from while we keep the woodstove going.

And the promise of sunshine and mid-60s tomorrow!

lesson in lightness

Yesterday's ride on Keil Bay was another windy experience: shavings tarp flapping and billowing, dressage marker rolling, whirlwinds of leaves in the back field. Keil was extremely alert and yet still in connection with me. If I clucked or squeezed one rein, he flicked an ear back to check in.

We warmed up with lots of walk and then some lateral work. My focus for the ride was lightness of aids, and timing so that my release of pressure came a split second before he responded, so he was rewarded for the try. I've discovered I can feel his response to an aid before he makes it if I really pay attention, and my feeling is that if I reward him that quickly, he'll be happier.

I noticed right off in the trot that he was lighter than usual. The sensation was intriguing - it felt both like we were moving slowly, in the air, and that I could sense each one of his feet in its own path toward the ground. We built this up to what I call Keil's "power trot" - a big working trot bold and forward with his back fully engaged.

The real lesson in lightness came with his canter, especially to the right. The instant I asked for it and he transitioned, it felt like we went airborne. For a few strides I couldn't tell if we were truly cantering. I knew we weren't trotting, but Keil Bay's big canter didn't feel as big. Suddenly I realized he was indeed cantering, but he was fully engaged, holding himself up (he has a tendency to let me do that for him) and the result was like floating. My seat was firmly in the saddle and my hands and legs were very still.

His harder side is left and while the canter was just a bit less light in that direction, it was still quite good.

This kind of ride makes me realize once again how much the horse teaches the rider. Everything I struggle to accomplish with my own body happens on its own when Keil Bay gets light. How much of that came from my own focus on lightness of the aids, I'm not sure. But either way, the gestalt was lightness, and we were a happy riding team during and after.

There is nothing like walking a happy, relaxed horse out to the field after a great ride. I slid Keil's halter off and waited for him to turn and touch me with his nose before he ambled off down the hill.