My Peace Filled Place.

As I get out of the car, the cool sting of the fresh air hits my face. I hear birds chirping. Its different then the city because you don’t hear a lot of cars. If you look out to the pasture filled with peaceful, happy eating horses you’ll see them all moseying around with their swishing tails and noses stuffed into the ground looking for any blade of grass. The sky is always a clear blue, like someone erased the clouds. As I approach my horse to bring him in he stares blankly at me trying to decipher if he should start walking towards me or be lazy and make me walk all the way. He has bits of grass stain on his muzzle and scruffs of dirt on his behind probably from rolling around. As I bring him in I greet him and he delicately eats the apple I brought for him. The loud crunch of his chewing is a comforting, familiar sound. The barn smells like freshly cut sweet hay, and the grains brighten the scent of the room. You hear bangs, and booms from horses kicking the sides of their stall, asking you for treats. The clanking of each hoof step the horse takes is an endless sound you hear. My mothers echoing voice down the long 70 stall barn asks me to come help her make feed bags for the horses, so I scoop some grain for Fontana and hurry down to help my mom. As we scoop and pour the grain sounds like pouring rain hitting the top of a roof as we put it in each bag. We now tack up the anxious, antsy horses scratching their one hoof across the cement to signal that their getting impatient. We walk from the barn to the arena which is always a breezy and winded walk. I on my horse and my sister on the other think its fun to race each other. As my horse runs the air hits my face somewhat stinging it yet soft enough to be enjoyable. You feel like your floating on a cloud as they gallop faster around the edges of the arena. And as I am done riding him and un-tacking him he and I both know what time it is, its time to say goodbye. I walk him to the gate and he turns his head one last time before he runs freely in the pasture again. This place that I’ve known for more then 10 years with all its familiar noises and hundreds of horses from green pasture to green pasture is what I like to call my peace of mind.

My Peace-Filled Place.

As I get out of the car, the cool sting of the fresh air hits my face. I hear birds chirping. Its different then the city because you don’t hear a lot of cars. If you look out to the pasture filled with peaceful, happy eating horses you’ll see them all moseying around with their swishing tails and noses stuffed into the ground looking for any blade of grass. The sky is always a clear blue, like someone erased the clouds. As I approach my horse to bring him in he stares blankly at me trying to decipher if he should start walking towards me or be lazy and make me walk all the way. He has bits of grass stain on his muzzle and scruffs of dirt on his behind probably from rolling around. As I bring him in I greet him and he delicately eats the apple I brought for him. The loud crunch of his chewing is a comforting, familiar sound. The barn smells like freshly cut sweet hay, and the grains brighten the scent of the room. You hear bangs, and booms from horses kicking the sides of their stall, asking you for treats. The clanking of each hoof step the horse takes is an endless sound you hear. My mothers echoing voice down the long 70 stall barn asks me to come help her make feed bags for the horses, so I scoop some grain for Fontana and hurry down to help my mom. As we scoop and pour the grain sounds like pouring rain hitting the top of a roof as we put it in each bag. We now tack up the anxious, antsy horses scratching their one hoof across the cement to signal that their getting impatient. We walk from the barn to the arena which is always a breezy and winded walk. I on my horse and my sister on the other think its fun to race each other. As my horse runs the air hits my face somewhat stinging it yet soft enough to be enjoyable. You feel like your floating on a cloud as they gallop faster around the edges of the arena. And as I am done riding him and un-tacking him he and I both know what time it is, its time to say goodbye. I walk him to the gate and he turns his head one last time before he runs freely in the pasture again. This place that I’ve known for more then 10 years with all its familiar noises and hundreds of horses from green pasture to green pasture is what I like to call my peace of mind.