Just after sunrise, the light hits the farmhouse living room, and this morning, it touched on many things I love. A painting by artist Christopher Smith, Valentine Day cards to Maria, some books, mine and others, and a photo of my daughter Emma. The light, touching on so many beautiful things in my life.
Finding birdseed. Meg is focused.
It was a raw, windy day and I thought I should go see Rocky and bring him his apple. He seemed disoriented, perhaps by the wind, and so I opened the gate and came out to see and he put his nose to the ear, flipped his ears around and listened for me, and came over to me. He is a dignified and accepting creature, this pony. I complain about my back and other things all the time, but he is not even capable of complaint.
I told him he made me think of love stories. The different kinds of love there are, the different ways we do – or don’t – love one another. You understand love, I think, Rocky, what it really means. This seems natural for you, not calculated or contrived.
To step out of yourself, to love the lives of other people, to be truly selfless. Love is putting aside what you want, what you need, for someone else, something else. You, Rocky, have no sense of tomorrow, I think, or of yesterday, only of now. You stand and wait, as you have been standing and waiting for some time now, and there is no complaint, lament, anxiety about the next thing, unlike us humans. You have given up yourself, naturally, completely, and without complaint. I think that is love, Rocky. It will be cold tonight, and I will come bye tomorrow with another apple.
One day Rocky will be gone, and soon, I suspect. He is here for now.
