The sun glittered and gleamed today, but there were cooling breezes from the west and the oppressive heat was no longer beating down on us. The mares were happier and I was happier and in the evening the light was like a painting and we took the horses out to look at the hills. 

The swallows and swifts were flying and the farmer was bringing in the great, rolled bales of hay and the enchanting coos were sheltering under the old oak tree. 

It all sounds very serene and bucolic because it was. 

The red mare settled into her walk and I felt her beside me, soft and easy, and I thought how beautiful it is to know someone that well. I know her all through and we are old compadres and we mosey along together in a harmony that doesn’t have good words to go with it.

The love blooms in my heart so that I can feel it expanding inside me and lifting me up. I tell her a little of it and she nods her head. 

The wood pigeons are cooing outside the window now and everything is very quiet. It is quarter past nine and I’m just back from the horses and I have a free hour to sit and be still. It was a lovely day, and I mark that with gratitude. I never, ever want to take the lovely days for granted, not once.