A grey day at the barn

My own little Annie Leibovitz (sans the debt problems) captured these pics of Peso this morning. It was grey out and he was unusually nervous, a habit he's been wending his way out of since we got him a year and a half ago. Every day he comes out of the stable a little different, sometimes with a calm eye and sometimes a little upset. When he's upset his stride shortens, he canters in place, he anticipates, he jumps like a cat.

We walked around after in the cool breeze, the flash loosened, on the grass on a long rain and he began to chill.



If he was a child, I'd say he'd led a sheltered life. But this bloodline, they tell me, matures late, and one has to be patient. As with all good things, one has to be patient.



The dogs wait in the stall till I take them on the loopy trail around the barn, with the dusty paths and the creek, which is full of watercress and papyrus and bulrush. Where the path crosses the stream, yellow bees congregate, sitting on the pebbles and buzzing around the reeds. The bees fascinate me. They ignore everything around them but the water, even when the dog splosh through it, or I balance precariously from rock to rock.



These two last images were taken last week when it was still hot, when the fires were still burning furiously only two miles away. The blue is ridiculous.



Dotsie is cross-eyed. It's part of her girlish allure. She she's wiggling her bum on a sprouting of reeds.