Minnies Mane

I was perched on the rungs of the fence one afternoon, looking out at the pasture, pretending to carry out an important task.  Searching for horses, checking the health of the grass in the pasture.

That kind of task.

But in truth I was daydreaming.

I was floating with one of the hawks, circling the sky, rising and falling with the air currents keeping me aloft.

I was feeling the soft wind in my hair, the heat of sun on my face.

Pepper was nibbling away at her pan of grain; Chickadee was walking the fenceline, trying to get my attention, lest I forget to give her another hay cube.

Then Minnie arrived on the scene.

In this herd, Minnie is probably the least powerful of all the horses.

She is a skinny little sorrel mare that defers to everyone.

Because of her low spot in the pecking order, she’s skittish and more than a little mistrustful. I don’t blame her.

But she wandered toward me, recognizing me as the snack lady.

She has a deep, throaty nicker which doesn’t seem to fit with her small stature.

And she paws at the ground to let me know she wants a cube.

I like Minnie.

From my position on the fence, I could get an excellent view of Minnie’s mane. I was struck by its beauty.

Notice  how it parts and falls to both sides of her neck.

Notice the various colors – as if she’d gotten hightlights at the beauty parlor.

Once again, the horses reminded me of an important life lesson:

There is a spark of wonderfulness in each and every one of us; something remarkable.

Something beautiful.

Something unique.

It just takes looking for it.

At first glance, most observers might think Minnie was nothing more than an underweight, skittish old mare. But they’d be wrong.

First impressions are rarely the most accurate.

We live in an amazing world. Especially when we take the time to really see it.