Melinda Morley

So, I’m down from seven stitches in my leg to five. I’m not sure if that is good news or not. Today was supposed to be the big day to get my stitches out. I dreamt that tomorrow I would wake up early and the only sound I wanted to hear was the birds in the trees and my silver Nike Pegasuses hitting the pavement.

Apparently.

Blunt injuries. Take. Longer. To. Heal. (Just like it takes longer to read sentences with extra periods.)

So, I guess I’ll have to watch what I eat for reals this week because we are going on three weeks of sedentary activity and that means that your body naturally want to pad the area that comes in contact with the chair. Sometimes the body is entirely too accommodating, and other times, well . . . not so much.

I could get a little depressed about that, but my madre sent me a get well card and I haven’t been able to feel bad about my stitches since then. I heart my mom.

So, I love July. I think I’m going to have a July birthday. Really. Midwinter is not a good time to grow older. But, summer, it’s impossible to even feel old when the sun is shining and everything is alive and green and growing.

So, I don’t have a date picked. Maybe the entire month will be my birthday. The thought feels my heart with joy. Happy Birthday to me.

Moving on:

Cowboy acquired us a couple of horses. Am I surprised? Would you be if your significant other had the nickname of Cowboy? Doesn’t that just DESTINE you to have horses someday. You don’t even have to call out to the universe for that one to come true.

So the horses.

I don’t get them.

I go up to the electric fence. (That in itself makes me a little nervous because I have a strong urge to touch it–just to see what it feels like, but them I’m too whimpy to actually do it, then I have internal conflict. Tell me I’m not the only one who does that.)

The horses lumber over to me. (They are beautiful creatures with muscular, svelt bodies, soft yellow fur, deep knowing brown eyes, and wonderful black and white manes.)

I fall in love with the sight of them. (But it ends there.)

We look at each other and there is a moment of awkwardness.

I slowly lift my hand to his nostrils so he can smell me. (Wait, is that just a dog thing? Do horses care what I smell like? Is this a faux pas in horse society?)

I begin to pet the horse’s nose. He doesn’t seem to particularly like it. He turns his head.

Another moment of awkward silence.

I begin to pet his cheek and then his neck, still a little leery of standing so near the electric fence.

He doesn’t seem to enjoy that either. So I pat his head. I know he’s not a dog. But, seriously, I don’t know what else to do.

He turns his head and puts his nose in the air and then walks away.

How should I feel about this? Rejected by a horse? Did I somehow offend this larger-than-life creature?

I feel small.  I feel like an insignificant human.

Then horse number two takes the place of the first one, and we repeat the scene all over again.

I stand there alone by the fence and wonder after the horses.

Then, I resist the urge to touch the fence and I walk away.

Maybe I’ll try it again tomorrow. The horses, I mean, not the fence.

I walk over to my tomatoes and my heart is filled with love at the sight of them. There is no awkwardness. There are no expectations. Just plants with promising green little spheres. And me.

And all is well in the world.