Breathe In

P4060033, originally uploaded by quercus design.

I am heartily sick of Father Time, and I'm sure you are too. Let's take a break. We have to take my daughter to her riding lesson anyway.

Look at the afternoon sunlight slanting through the dusty tack room window. Useful things accumulate in here, washed in on waves of children and abandoned in their wake. Feel how soft the weathered flag is, how warm the leather harnesses are where the sun has stroked them. Run your fingertips across the grain of the wood, once rough and now polished like driftwood by so many other fingers drawn across it. Who outgrew the shirt, and how long ago? Who knotted the lead rope? The horses are nickering in their stalls, stamping now and then, the riding instructor out in the ring calls to the horse, to the rider. The dog barks frantically in the distance to welcome a newcomer or a rabbit but in here there is only the sound of things settling into place.
Breathe deeply. Smell the old leather, the slightly damp wood, the scattered hay, the dust on the windowsill.
Let it out.
Gather in your child, her boots, her helmet, her strength, her youth, her joy.
Go home.
Rest easy.