We had gone a slightly different and longer route for our morning outing. We turned right instead of left out of the barn driveway. Cyra’s steel spiked shoes crunched on the frozen dirt of Woodman Road. Up the Cider House Road we went, and then into the pine stand on the corner of Woodman Road and Meadow Lane. Cyra’s shoes now landed on the frozen duff of the forest floor. Mocha’s paw whispered in the light coating of snow on the ground.
Our morning ramble took us along the ridge overlooking the orchard and the now empty hog house. The winter sun was a brighter spot in the otherwise gray sky. Passing the Cider House we entered the woods once again riding to and then over Ben’s Bridge below our parent’s chapel. Cyra’s shoes bit into the wooden deck. A crow called in the distance. A woodpecker hammered out a morning tattoo in search of bugs on a tree we could not see. Mocha drifted in and out of our sight lines as she did her own exploring of Norumbega’s woods.
Snaking our way through the forest, Cyra suddenly stopped. I had not asked her to stop. This was her choice. This rarely happens. I was in no hurry. I did not ask her to walk on. Instead, I stilled myself as well. I watched her as she watched and listened to the woods. I could not see anything or hear anything that would have caught her attention and caused her to stop. She was not nervous. Her winter fuzzy ears moved around as if to catch the sound of something only she could hear. Her big head slowly drifted from side to side, sweeping the view from where she stood. Mocha was nowhere to be seen. Curious, I let her stand until she decided she had had enough of stillness and was ready to end her reverie and move on. I can only guess what she was thinking. I savored our stillness until she decided to resume our walk.
I could not say how long we paused to stand in the quiet woods. In retrospect, I am sure the sense of duration has taken on more than the reality. What I do know is that in choosing to stop, Cyra reminded me of my need to stop and really see the world around be. That she had only done this a handful of times in our nearly twenty years together added importance to her equine communication to me.
We reemerged onto Woodman Road. We walked down to the grassy verge surrounding Talking Brook. As was our pattern, we picked up a canter for the last fifty yards before coming back to a walk to climb the slope of the icy driveway. We always find magic together on our morning rides ( I have ridden twenty mornings in December so far ) but this morning reminded me that there is always new magic to be discovered when one slows down to listen….Micheal Fralich Norumbega Farm