floating

Turn and feel the bunching and gathering of a tight wound ball of muscle, tendons, sinew, electric with energy ready to run. Let loose and the adrenaline kicks in, sending you sky high above the ground as you fly over the brown grass that's given way to late fall. Silken mane caresses your hands as you flow with the motion of gathering and extending, gathering and extending, over and over again with each stride. The rhythmic snorts set a tempo in your head and you never want to stop. Your body melds with that of the horse as you gallop across the field, floating, floating, escaping for a short time. The skill that you can never attain while on your own two feet comes easily while aboard this 1200 pound animal. Just let go. The second you let him find his full stride as his feet pound the ground faster and faster, just let go and live that moment. It seems so impossible in every other aspect of life. Always planning ahead, always anxious about the next day's events. Yet that gallop through that field, those valuable seconds, they're a taste of simply living. Pure, true joy like no other.

welling up

Lately, things have been tough. Relationships, school, the weather, it's all been trying. There's always this one solid thing though that God has blessed me with. This animal, this equine. He brings me joy, true joy, when I get to see him. He gives me pride for all the things we've accomplished. He brings humor to my overly serious life. His expressions and actions are just so, simple but so meaningful. He reminds me of what real passion is supposed to feel like. What it's like to be proud of something. What it's like to really appreciate the little things. Like the little wufs of breath and nosing in my pocket for a possible treat, or the soft brown eyes that somehow know exactly what you're thinking and feeling and how to make it all better. There's no helping the process of falling in love with this type of being. True innocence. Pure joy. An unmatched heart.

the smallest

I forgot what it was like to see a billion stars when you look up at the night sky. When the amount of navy blue sky is the same as the amount of sparkling stars lightyears away from us. It's a humbling reminder, and it's so refreshing. It takes my breath away and makes me appreciate the open space I am bound and determined to have one day. I don't want neighbors. I want rolling land. I'm sick of this urban setting I've been stuck in for the past 3 years and the next 5 to come. I feel claustrophobic and closed in. There are crickets outside my window here, but there's no chorus sung by the bullfrogs or melody of the whippoorwill. The smell of fresh, open air fills me in every essence and makes me feel like new again. I got a taste of it 2 weeks ago and it's all I've been able to think about since. Those stars. My own set of stars they will be one day.

I've cried these tears a hundred times before. Are they preventable? I guess so. I don't know if it's by me though. Are you just used to me being the one that feels awful about things and takes the blame? I cause the problem, so sure that works. I don't want to drive you away. I don't want to lose you. I want this for good. I feel like I'm trying harder. I just want the assurance. I wish I could have you understand all these things and the mark they leave.

stolen time

numbered days

I began, it was 3 months ago. Not bearing to think of the future, which is now my present. What's going to happen next? It's still uncertain. All I know is that I'm losing you, one way or another. You have fulfilled my spotless, blissful Indian Summer. It's the hottest times now; the sun is a searing ball of fire in the sky, sweat lathering on your neck, your flank, across your brow, merging with my own, soaking my hands as they bury in your mane. When I'm with you, I forget the concept of time. I only focus on the present. It's a skill that I've never been able to conquer save for the time spent at my sacred place. The smells of hay, grain, sweat, grass. The sounds of hoofbeats, soft huffs of breath on your face, whiskers tickling your ear. I can't help but feel this welling up deep inside of me for everything, the way your mane falls on both sides sometimes, the soft look in your eyes, your velvet nose greeting when I come into your pasture. Most of all, your heart. You try your hardest every time to do what I ask. There's not a mean bone in you to defy me, the way you aim to please is so beautiful it's heartbreaking to think about you leaving. This summer has been one of my best because of you being here. It's a different bond than with my first. You're different in every way possible I think. He is a spitfire, kind of like me, and we just get each other. We think the same way. My love for him is almost protective, like having a kid brother that you can't help but love. My bond with you is so much different, different colors and textures and feelings. It's a quieter one, you don't question me. You are the follower and I am your master, but it still runs deep, to the bone. And it's gonna splinter me when you go. It's a more permanent thing, I don't get you back. This is it sweet boy. 

I think about you, and all of the times that we shared  

And oh what a wonderful pair. We made it so far, here we go again
I think about love, and oh what a beautiful song  

And oh how it needs to be sung here  

Sing it so loud all the world can hear

on the brink

3 down, 1 to go. This last one may the be the ultimate test of my endurance. I haven't slept for almost 51 hours, unless you count the one hour this afternoon. It's about time to let sleep consume my whole being. I can't make my brain focus like this, my eyes go over the words and numbers and formulas but nothing sticks. I can see the other side of the battle, the clearing that's gonna last me for months. So close I can literally taste it and smell it and feel the hot breeze on my skin, I can hear the crickets singing me to sleep outside my window. I'm excited for this summer, I hit the ground running but I wouldn't have it any other way. I hate being idle. There won't be as many beach trips, instead there will be long days spent at the vet clinics gaining irreplaceable experiences that provide me with the material to tell all the stories I love to tell. I'll spend my evenings and weekends at the barn, cherishing the limited time I have with my sweet Indian Summer time. The days are numbered, and who knows what will happen to us come fall. I'll spend many weekends in Greensboro with the human male in my life, bless him. I just want to be home, away from here. Cannot wait.

angels lead you in

Disaster strikes first, then the calm, and then the beauty. Just like summer thunderstorms. The impending clouds can only mean foundation-shaking thunder, on edge electricity, sheets of sideways rain, winds that swirl you into confusion. It breaks loose and drenches the earth. It passes as soon as it comes, leaving the leaves on the trees sparkling with heavy raindrops. The world is bathed in a sense of fresh calm, clean. Here lies the in between; the moment of eery, calm silence between darkness and beauty. The birds begin to chirp again, along with the crickets and bull frogs, returning to normalcy.

He gives you a disaster to survive, then a fresh perspective. You go through the trials and come out alive on the other side. He gives you the escape again, the one thing you've been craving for so long. A positive outlet that allows for that quiet, joyous connection. It's the place where you find him most. He gives you the wings you lack again. It's all coming together now.

Indian Summer

Give me my Indian Summer, where the air is thick with heat that smothers everything else. It's full of warmth, the hot sun on tanned arms covered in freckles. It's a time to forget everything you have been remembering. A time when there's nothing but the heat, the heat, sweat pours off your brow. The time in late summer when you've all but forgotten school for the sweet smell of freshly mowed grass, summer air rolling in your open window, flooding the rolled down windows of your car like a hurricane, stirring up your hair and practically drowning out the radio. A time to forget, to get lost and stay there for a while. You lose track of time during those days of brutal heat, what day it is even anymore. Sometimes I just like to forget and reminisce, let the nostalgia set in, hard. Because your best memories of those Indian Summers date back to 1996, 1997, 1998, 1999. Indian coins in the ground, the hobbit trail, the tall fence, the deep end, the diving board, the witch's cauldron, Jurassic Park, Robin Hood, the basement, treasure maps, the cul-de-sac. Your life ended, yet another one has extinguished; so much loss in so short a time. I want my Indian Summer now.

run like the wind bull's eye

Equus ferus caballus. Horses. Ever since I can remember, I've been infatuated. It's stuck with me all these years and I know it's gonna stay with me for the rest of my life. I crave time in the saddle, at the barn. It doesn't matter what I'm doing there, just being around them is an escape. Their characteristic scent; there's nothing else quite like it. The sweet smell of sun-soaked hay, salty sweat, grain, fresh shavings, and just horse; a wonderful mix of all these things when you press your face against their neck. Being at the barn is such an escape, to walk through and hear the soft snorts or contented sighs of happy ponies munching on their hay for the night. For just a little bit, I can forget the stress of the rest of reality and just live in the moment with these creatures. The happiness they bring and the sheer joy they provide me with. I owe them big time. Jazz has listened to more of my struggles than most, he's probably one of the best confidants I've had. Deep in my being, I can feel the need for the horse-human bond. It's a deep-rooted desire, something that I can't live without. There's such satisfaction when you just click with that one horse; you can get the best out of him and you feel a possessiveness over him, an attachment and a need to protect him. A need to spoil him and just hug his neck because it's warm and sturdy, solid. I'm without it, and I feel like a piece of me is missing. My pony is gone while I'm in school. I don't know when I'll get him back, I just hope I get to have him for the last few years of his rich life. So full of spunk and attitude, but still the love peeks out from underneath the facade. I have 5 years left of school, he will be 25 when I get done with vet school. I want him to be the one to teach my kids to ride, so they can learn to ride on the same stubborn pony that I did. He's a wise old man; he knows when to push you to your breaking point and he knows when to stop and just let you cry. He's spoiled beyond repair, but it's the type of spoiled that comes from love, not treats. I just miss it, dearly. I don't think I took the past for granted, I think I just wish it was more feasible in current times. I treasure all those times so deeply. I find myself talking about him in past tense, and I'm not okay with that. "Oh my pony always did that", correction "does". He's not gone yet. I'm scared sometimes that one day when I go to see him, he's not gonna remember me. I want him back. I want to hug his neck and put my face in his mane to take a deep breath of his scent. I want to be able to talk to him while I clean his stall and he munches on his hay, have him as the most attentive listener. I hate that I'm bitter about what I don't have anymore, I don't want to be like that. When I'm surrounded by people who take everything they have for granted though, it's hard not to be. They have what I want, and frankly, I'm jealous.

the hour

Tuscaloosa, Alabama; circa 1997

The heat and humidity of the balmy summer night was almost suffocating, but it didn't stop us from partaking in Independence Day festivities. Your old green pick up truck is parked in the driveway, the folded down tailgate providing a prime viewing spot for the action. We all sit on the edge of it, feet swinging above the ground beneath us. Each of the dads takes turns setting up the rocket in the old coke bottle at the end of the driveway, he lights the fuse and sprints away, turning back just in time to watch the fireworks explode with an array of colors in the night sky. We all grab sparklers and take turns writing our names in the air, the trails from the sparks lingering on the front of our eyes in an illusion of what used to be. The cousins; linked by maternal blood and bonded as youngsters during adventures in the Tuscaloosa house. So many adventures together. Watching Jurassic Park in the basement and being scared out of our minds, all six of us huddled under one blanket on one couch. Drawing treasure maps through our own versions of Jurassic Park, carefully marking where the T-Rex and velociraptors reside in order to avoid them, crumpling up the paper over and over again and then burning the edges to make it look authentic. Following the hobbit trail to the edge of the woods, only to be too intimidated for further investigation. Learning to swim in the deep end of the pool together, jumping off the diving board and scrambling to the surface. Digging up Indian coins every single summer. Riding bikes and roller blading in the cul-de-sac. Waiting at home with Nana while you were at work, and running to jump into your big strong arms when you walked in the door. The way you always called us all your scalliwags. Always rooting for the Crimson Tide. These are the memories I cherish most deeply, and the ones I will always remember. The ones I'll tell my children about when they ask about the man they'll be named after. It was painful to watch your strength leave as your body betrayed you. But you never complained, you always amazed me with your drive to not let it take away your outlook on life. Your sense of humor never left; we would be sitting at the table eating supper with everyone and you would insert some off the wall comment that would send everyone into hysterics, and Nana would be jokingly appalled. Your cunning little smile when you would say something to make us grand-kids laugh, even if it meant making Nana mad. The only time you had relief was in sleep, and even that became a struggle. I find comfort in the fact that you are finally at peace from this disease, you can walk and run and jump and throw the football again. You're probably up there now talking about football with Uncle Troy. Telling Jesus about the time you brought your sawed-off shotgun to work to get rid of the pigeons that were pooping on your car. How you got your four front teeth knocked out by a baseball as a kid. How you and Uncle Dudney bought that nice car from the doctor in town, only to take it through fields and the woods and completely wreck it. All the mischievous things you used to do for the sake of making someone smile. I'm gonna miss it so much, but I know that it was your hour to leave us.

Rest in Peace, Granderson Wilson Harris 
3/9/36-2/5/13

Isaiah 57:1
"The righteous perish, and no one ponders it in his heart; devout men are taken away, and no one understands that the righteous are taken away to be spared from evil."