Just before four a.m. my foggy brain said to me, "Why's the ligh shtill ohnnnn?"
I rubbed the tired crusties out of my eyes and tried to comprehend.
Bright. Glow. Window.
All fragmented, not in the form of a question, Alex.
Bright. Light. Ponies. Cold.
Ahh, it was coming to me. My internal alarm was buzzing, reminding me of the appointment that I scheduled with the horses just before I went to sleep last nite because Algore is an idiot and it's freekin cold out. Cold. Single-digits even. The fatties need eats to stay warm.
But who left the light on? More eye rubbing, forehead smoothing. (It's my ritual. Deal.) I sat up. Outside light. Bright.
I was fully awake now, admiring the brightness of it all. You could see the frost on the fence rails. The big boxelder's shadow was crisp on the ground like it was drawn with a new pencil. The sky was clear of clouds and full of stars.
I got dressed without turning on a light. I found the coffee pot and flicked it on. I could clearly see Big Red Ted standing by the gate, his big white face lowered to the tank. I woke the doggies in the dark and let them outside. I found my coat and hat and gloves and boots in the light coming through the window. One last glance at the thermometer told me it was 8 degrees. Nice.
It was one of those mornings where you could read a book in the moonlight. Bright. Crisp. Sharp. Like a really good black and white picture. The outline of the barn was stark against the star filled sky. The ridges on the steel were accentuated by the moonlight, their perfect columns of shadow all lined up against the building.
Ted was still by the gate, watching me watch him. Something in the shadows by the tank moved, then moved again. The shape hopped up onto the insulated water tank housing. Maverick. He's a strange one, that Maverick. Greets me almost every morning from that water tank. I'd like to think he's keeping an eye on things, but I know to never rely on a cat.
I gave him a pat, then stepped up onto the tank to get a peek over the fence. Mater stuck his sleepy face out from under the darkness of the lean-to, his big blaze easily visible in the light. Farther down the row I heard Hank's deep "Ruh-ruh-ruh" preceding his blaze coming out of the dark.
"Breakfast is coming, Hank."
Teddy's nose brushed my gloved hand. I reached out and gave him a big scratch on the neck. He leaned into the scratch, his white eyelashes catching the light.
"Breakfast is coming."
9 hours ago