The air smells of dirt and horses. The wind whips through my clothes, swirls across my face, bringing the cold kiss of spring, and reminds me that I am still alive.
Rooted to the ground. I have not disappeared, fading to non-existence, as I feared.
Breathing slowly, in…and…out…in…and…out. My body reminds me yet again that I am still here.
It is a simple thing to be alive. Yet it is another feat entirely to feel alive.
Peering through the bars of the round pen I see my horse standing still as a statue while the farrier works on his feet. He is not frothing at the mouth, throwing his head in stubborn defiance, or rearing to escape. Still as a statue he stands. Feeling his energy I mimic him by watching calmly.
I will myself to breathe and plead with my brain to let me stand here.
Just let me…
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