I’m sitting with my friend, and she looks so, so tired, like I’ve never seen her look before– it’s all written there. I ask about her teaching, when school starts back up and what her load is– she says classes begin on monday– and all I can think is that I’m worried for her if she looks like this at the beginning of the semester.
I ride the horse down from the meadow and around the pond and right up to the house, toss its bridle over a piece of statuary, and tell it I’ll be right back. it’s not my horse, but I get to ride it since I live here. I think about what a sweet deal it is and how much I’ll miss it when it’s over. I go to the kitchen, wanting to find some sort of treat for the horse to thank it for making me so happy, but I’m not entirely sure what it would like to eat– at first I contemplate a tray of chocolate cookies sitting there, but then I think, no, maybe chocolate’s bad for horses like it is for dogs. then I proceed to mix up a bowl of cereals and grains, thinking that must be a safe bet– and at the last minute take a gamble and throw some yogurt in.
i walk around these Victorian neighborhoods where the leaves are small and new and think about how i’ll miss this too when it’s over. then i think about how i’ll never get enough of touching new maple leaves. it’s my secret thing that no one knows just how much i love those fragiley strong baby green skins.