Smithy

seared hooves and white smoke;

obedient horse awaits,

metal shoes and oats.

lenny d.cook


During the scheduled farrier visit,  the FM music station blared, and I was asked, “Do these guys like rock music?”  I muttered something about not wanting to listen to the PBS classical station.  It was a fact that old Big Red was kept in a trance by classical piano,  if it was Chopin, all the better. Maybe I should find some German beer drinking music for Schatz,  mein Deutsch Pferd.

Reflection du jour

broken record,

has scratching repeats;

redundancy.

lenny d.cook

The sun has returned, and I need some mood enhancing vitamin D: cabin fever is ailing me.   Plus, I’m hoping the rays will thaw the barn’s runs.  Believe it or not, horses and humans are stumbling on the frozen dung piles.

Fickle Feb

February is the shortest month but one of the most mercurial.   I had sensed spring’s renewal, even the horses are beginning to shed their winter coats.  Not surprisingly, old man winter has quietly returned.  There have been no gale force winds, no blinding whiteouts, just a soft powdery blanket thrown over the ground.  It’s a humbling reminder that we have no control over nature’s force.  Feb is fickle.  I’ll keep this short and end with a bit of humor:

The most serious charge which can be brought against New England is not Puritanism but February. Joseph Wood Krutch