A stand of rough trees lines the eastern edge of the property, bordering the pasture. Mostly elm, they still carry some dead limbs, broken by the ice storm from three years ago. A bucket lift and a half-day with a chain saw would clear that pretty well but that particular opportunity doesn’t seem to be high on the priority list at present. Instead, I attend to morning chores and hope I remember later today to get the supply line connectors so I can get the new kitchen sink put into service.

Tango, eager for sweet feed, comes and stands expectantly by the fence as I flip the charger to the “off” position. I walk across the drive toward the round pen and shed to bring the new gelding over. During his transition from stable to pasture and from hay to green grass, we keep Shiloh fastened up at night. He presses his nose against the gate as I bring out his halter. Eager for food and fellowship, he tries to move me along a bit faster.

The pair touch noses while I fasten the top strand of electric wire back in place. As soon as I take off his halter, Shiloh pivots and bolts away. Tango turns toward him and they both romp for a bit. Tango swings his backquarters toward Shiloh, bucks and delivers a double kick but Shiloh is twenty feet away and ready to play.

This pair of Arabians could pass for brothers, if not twins. Tango is a darker bay and barely taller, of finer features. Shiloh’s color has a reddish tint. They each have a narrow blaze that runs the length of their face and one white foot. Rear left on both. Tango’s white runs a few inches higher, though.

I go back to the shed to get their feed and think of my own needs: more humility, more faith, more devotion. To hunger for righteousness as this pair loves grazing and ground feed. To stand in eager anticipation of each lesson, each filling, each teaching. To become so like Jesus that others see such resemblance that the kinship is undeniable.

The geldings quiver as I bring buckets to the fence, slip each his own feeding underneath the lowest strand and set them far enough apart that they are out of kicking distance, just in case some dispute or jealousy arises.

I head then toward the house, boots crunching the frost-crusted clover. I take one more look back toward the horses, and see early sun filtering through the trees, casting broken shadows on grass that needs more growing.

H. Arnett

5/3/11