In the Grip of Winter

Winter has descended upon the farm with its frigid temperatures and wind-swept fields layered in powdery, white snow. The horses are snug in their heavy blankets and grow bored with lolling around. They irritate each other with cranky nipping and kicking, or me, by breaking fences and galloping around the property. Hidalgo, my spotted Spanish mustang, is by far the worst. If he is let out of his stall to exercise in the paddocks, within minutes he will barrage through the fence lines, running to the bird feeders to nibble on the seed. When I try to catch him, he will saucily toss his mane and charge across the fields. Only a bucket of sweet feed can entice him to leave his charades and return to his stall. After going inside to warm my frozen hands by the fire, I will do what most horse riders are doing in blustery, cold Michigan, dreaming of spring, with its emerald fields and sunny skies. I itch to return to my oiled, heavenly smelling, leather saddle so I can prepare for show season. But for now, it is only a dream.