The morning dawned clear and bright, the sky an improbable blue above a world freshly remade.. Eight inches of snow had come down over night, feather-light and pristine. It rounded fence posts, softened sharp edges, and muted the noise of the land. Even familiar places felt new and exciting.
Booger moved into this quiet with calm authority. Her coat, black as spilled ink, contrasted sharply against the snow. She stood statue-still as I hitched her to the little wooden gig. Then she stepped out with a flash of bright intent, ears pricked, neck arched, ready for adventure.
We set off down the lane to the wide fields beyond, Booger lifting into a trot with unmistakable joy. Feisty, yes, but in the way of a horse who trusts both herself and the world around her. Her tail was flagged, a clear sign of her approval. Her breath came in clouds of steam that vanished quickly in the January air.
The cart followed with a soft rattle. It was a two-wheeled one-seater polished by years of use. The sound traveled briefly in the cold air, then the quiet closed in again.
The trail bent away from the fields and slipped into the woods. The light filtered through the trees, becoming dappled as it fell towards the forest floor. Pine trees stood solemn and green, their branches heavily burdened. Oak and maple trunks bowed slightly towards the trail, while bare limbs laced delicately across the sky.
The world narrowed into a ribbon of snow and light. The trees felt close, welcoming us into their still sanctuary, their branches writing a careful calligraphy cross the sky. Sunlight filtered through the trees in bright, slanting beams.
Booger became a silhouette of motion and purpose. A mare on a mission! Her black coat was rich and glossy, the chocolate trim of her harness highlighting her graceful form.
The forest felt alive with the unseen, each curve promising something just out of sight, another stretch of quite joy just around the bend.
We entered the cedar grove. Here, the light took command while the trail stretched forward in an inviting straight line. The sun broke through the trees in a brilliant spill, flaring into long, radiant beams, and striping the snow with dramatic shadows. Dark blue and violet crisscrossed in elegant patterns before us.
Sunlight poured over Booger's back, catching the curve of her hindquarters, the edge of her muscles, the gleam of her velvety coat. Snow fell in sudden, soft avalanches from some of the lower branches, dusting Booger's topline and cascading into my aproned lap. Booger tossed her head and snorted, delighted rather than afraid. The sound was intimate, a laughter shared between friends.
The cedar trunks rose straight and earnest around us, dark needles piercing through the snow. They bore quiet witnesses to the passing of a perfect moment, one which felt simultaneously fleeting and eternal.
As we turned for home, Booger became even bolder, stepping forward with that particular Arabian confidence, both an explorer and a queen of her domain. She surged playfully forward, eager to make short work of the wide and shining distance between us and the barn. The world unfurled with every stride, barren farm fields billowing on either side, snow spraying from the cart's wheels in shimmering curtains.
I grinned broadly as cart followed horse, light and faithful, carried along by uncontainable joy. A bold, black horse moving gladly through the fresh snow. A path asking only to be followed. The deep sense of calm and belonging. And the absolute certainty that there was nowhere else I'd rather be.
