It was not the sparse coating of snow 
That made us reluctant 
To go down to the barn to feed the geldings. 
Nor was it the lack of morning sun,
Though either one of those might suffice
If we chose to search for reasons. 

Instead it was the aching combination 
Of low temps and a strong north wind 
Bending body and mind toward finding
Another layer of cloth to wrap around 
Our shirted shoulders under heavy coats
In a wind chill that held well below zero.

Gloves inside mittens gave sufficient cover
To keep fingers from stiffening too much,
Though it made unchaining the gate a bit tougher. 
We mustered enough will and effort
To work through the chill of our chores
As we tended to the horses. 

There are times when it is not easy to find
What it is, exactly, that leads us through such duty. 
This morning, I am certain
That it is neither Truth nor Beauty.
Randa does it for love of horses;
I do it for love of Randa. 

And both aware that there are times
When the why matters so much less
Than the doing.