out of whack

I woke up this morning with an out of whack perspective. Everything seemed not right, not good enough, too much, overwhelming. I walked out to the barn and felt like I might drop flat to the ground from all the things that needed to be done: more, better, differently.

The odd thing is that everything is the same today as it was yesterday, and the day before that.

I still have chigger bites. About 35 of them. The shavings pile is still low. New shavings delivery was scheduled last week for early this week. The horses hooves are packed with damp earth the same way they are every morning after a huge rain. The world is still full of midsummer insects that bite and sting. Our internet was out again, after a power outage yesterday evening. Nothing dramatic had changed in my world.

The only thing that shifted is my own perception. It truly felt like this little world I live in, the one I often write about with great joy and bliss, had become tilted in some way.

This is no great revelation - it's happened before, and will again, but there is always the need to remind myself that things have not gone to hell in a handbasket. It's my view of them that has tilted.

I don't know what actually causes it. It could be biochemical, hormonal, or energetic. Or all of the above.

I did morning chores, and came in for a shower. Our massage therapist was due at noon, and we honored the commitment we both made to Keil Bay last time - that we would be quiet and go slow for his massage. He was a fidgeting mess the first third of the massage. He finally settled down when she got to his back end. The final two thirds of his body he stood in a trance, licking and chewing, eyes glazed over with endorphin rush.

He has some body issues right now. I wish I could solve the puzzle for him, but mostly he seems content. I suspect the homeopathic constitutional is layering back through some medical issues from his past. We move forward together, one day at a time.

Today, after his massage, he panther walked to the water trough, got a long drink, and then headed out to the back field where he promptly rolled and then set to grazing. It was obvious that all was just fine in Keil Bay's world.

Due to the chiggers, which I Freudian-slipped and called "chives" - chiggers plus hives equal chives??? - we opted to do a 30-minute chair massage for me instead of the usual long hot stone massage.

Initially I was tight through the shoulders, which felt like Keil Bay's tension I'd picked up while standing with him during his body work. I talked for a few minutes but at some point I just disappeared. I had the sensation of leaving my body and then sliding back into it. But I was no longer "me." I was a turtle!

I was a turtle whose shell felt out of alignment. Something about the neck and the place where the shell hinges was off. I turned my turtle head back and forth and felt the tightness where the shell wasn't right.

Then suddenly I was on the beach. Back to my regular self, lying wrapped in a sheet in the sun. H's hands were warm like the sand, and the fans in the barn were the surf. There was something quite like an ocean breeze blowing through the barn aisle. I smelled the air and the sea and enjoyed the ambiance. The ocean has always been a healing place for me - the salt water, the warm sand, the mesmer-sound of surf and gulls. I was right there.

H. got to the end of the chair massage with a wisping touch I recognized as the final one. I breathed, thinking how nice it was to end my massage on the beach. But suddenly I was back in the turtle shell. And i realized that as relaxed as I was, the shell was still not right. I turned my head back and forth again. And suddenly H. put her hands right at the base of my neck, on the upper shoulders, right on the part of the shell that was pushing wrong. She put fairly intense pressure on that area and the shell clicked into place.

When she asked "how are you?" I came back to my body. Everything was right again.

The turtle image was so amazingly perfect for how I felt. My little world off its hinge, then righted.

And my time on the beach was just heaven.

fire works

I was going to write about my own little 4th of July stresses and how one neighbor did indeed manage to set off fireworks but was thwarted repeatedly by a thunderstorm rolling through.

But when I checked email this morning I found one from friend and fellow writer Joseph Gallo, whose tale of July 4th gave me some insights that I think we all might benefit from.

Go to his blog Yarblehead and read his story.

july

July rolled in like an autumn day here, after a huge thunderstorm the last night of June. Getting rain and then a preview of my favorite season, midsummer, was like a double blessing.

We spent some time on the front porch and the horses are getting time each day in the front yard, which is a treat for them and helps us avoid using the mower. Rafer Johnson was nearly obscured by the tall grass. He is shedding out and so very muscular and handsome right now.



Keil Bay was in grass heaven. He went straight to the highest, lushest spot and got right in the middle of it. Interestingly, Cody stood on the outside of the same area, and reached in for the good stuff. The pony tends to march around and snatch grass from every part of the yard, as if it might disappear at any moment and he wants to get as much as he can before it does. Salina is not surprisingly more focused on where the other horses are than on the grass she's grazing. She positions herself based on where Rafer is, and where Keil Bay is, and then shifts to the forage.



In one of the hanging baskets on the porch, a small bird has made a gorgeous nest. I was astounded by the weaving skills. I don't think I could match it if I tried. There are 4 eggs, and hopefully all are doing well.



In all this abundance, we are having our share of ailments. Salina got a small wound on her flank, which has required rinsing and treating twice each day. Apollo Moon had a goopy eye, which prompted a call to the vet, who reassured me that it would likely resolve but to call back in a day if it didn't. I discovered that the application of a warm wet washcloth a couple of times helped it heal.

Keil Bay and I took a walk down to the labyrinth, as he'd been asking, and I was ready to show him. He was very willing to leave his herd and march down the hill through the woods with my daughter and me, and was extremely alert and excited. He had a few snacks along the way, and christened the path with his big bold walk. Just at the beginning of the labyrinth itself, he stopped and stood tall, looking one way and then the other, surveying. We marched back up very pleased with the first circuit.

And then discovered that Cody, who had been ridden the day before and was fine, had a patch of hives on one thigh, and was sore in that same leg. He's eating, drinking, walking, and there is no swelling or obvious injury, so he got a dose of Banamine and a number of checks last evening and this morning. It appears to be a reaction to an insect sting. We'll see.

I suppose that's part of high summer - the stable flies are in check, but the big biting and stinging insects are out in full force. Part of the abundance of the season.

new blog post today on mystic-lit

If you're a writer, head over to mystic-lit for A.S. King's newest blog post and share your take on things. And there are at least two more posts in line over there, so keep checking back.

my morning poem

Every morning when I walk out to the barn, if I'm running on time and not late, this is what I see. And every time I see this, it makes me think of that Gerard Manley Hopkins poem that goes "Glory be to God for dappled things..."

Except in my mind it reads: "Glory be to god for donkey things" and continues, "and mares as black as night with one kind eye."

How in the world did GMH keep his poem of praise so short? Mine would go on and on.

And living here, it would have to end with a squeaky bray and a smile: