OUTSIDE MY FRENCH DOORS

Outside my French doors, dawn fight with the night over the coming day. A fiery sword flashes, a dark cloak counters. Though I know the outcome, I watch, fascinated by the battle. Why? What is it about conflict that attracts? We see it at sporting events, we are pulled in to the TV news like addicts when there is a disaster, between nature and animal, between the earth and man, and especially between clashing members of the human race. Why are we not more fascinated by love?

The dogs pay no attention to the war between morning and evening. Noses to the ground they follow the story of night time visitors, trotting along, tails wagging, tongues lolling.

Horses stand, warm shadows towers of meditation, still, waiting.  There is a lesson in their calmness.

A brazen squirrel tightropes the top fence board, then leaps into the deep dark blue and hangs swaying in the air from a branch I cannot see. He traverses the border between bright and dark with ease.

My gaze turns back to the eastern horizon. Morning and night are paused on the edge of indigo. A truce for the moment.

I turn away to seek the light. A story awaits my thoughts, my words. I will build a fire, and brew some tea.

This is the season when thoroughbreds are born. It brings back memories of when I was a Foal Watcher. I shall nestle within the images and see where they lead. Perhaps, they will lead to a tale of hope. Perhaps, I shall be fascinated by the love between a woman and a horse, while outside my French door the battle over dawn is coming to its inevitable end.