Mornings here aren’t rushed, they unfold.
The sun peeks over horizon, warming the tops of the cedar trees and sending long golden shadows across the pasture. I step onto the porch with coffee in hand, still barefoot, still waking up myself. It’s quiet, but not silent. The birds are already wide awake, trading songs from fence post to tree limb.
Out in the distance, the horses catch sight of me. I don’t have to call, they know. Their heads rise, ears forward, and soon I hear the soft thud of hooves across the sun parched earth as they wander up to the gate. Each one has their own way of saying good morning. A nudge, a deep exhale, or just standing quietly beside me while I scratch a neck or brush away the night’s dust.
Sadie, my good dog, is never far behind. She trots beside me like she knows we’ve got work to do, even if the work is just loving on the animals.
The donkeys bray, reminding me they don’t like to be second in line. They do their little dance of pranching from front to back.
I fill the bird feeders and water bowls. Check on the nest with blue bird or mockingbird eggs to see if they have hatched. Water what is left of my garden and flowers.
There’s something grounding in these small rituals. The rhythm of feed buckets, brushing manes, checking water troughs, and making sure everyone is accounted for. It’s not glamorous. It’s not rushed. It’s real.
This is where the day begins for me, not with to-do lists or scrolling screens, but with animals who ask for nothing but care, presence, and maybe an carrot or two.
The world can wait. Out here, morning belongs to us.
Until next time, be kind to each other.
xoxo
Cindy
Psalm 30:5