Devon and Artex

It is hardly surprising that I am sitting in the middle of a pasture. The air smells of freshly cut hay, and I occasionally catch a waft of horsey smell on the tepid breeze. I look up to see the soft gaze of my old, white horse, Devon. He's several yards away, but it was only moments ago that he knocked me over so that I landed on damp earth as he searched for treats. Bananas (skins still on) are his favorite thing, but he accepts carrots, mints, apples, sugar cubes, and once, an accidental find-a twinkie. He's come back over now, looking over my shoulder as if maybe he'll be able to find sweets in my notebook.

Today I spent the afternoon doing one of my favorite summer activities--old journal reading. Devon was in it often, as was my other horse, Artex. Artex is far off now, chomping grass as fast as his big, brown lips will let him. He's walking slowly because of continual leg problems. These problems originate from his complete and utter obsession with food. Horses are notoriously picky eaters, but not Artex. All manners of greenery (and clothing and saddles) find their way not only to a curious nose, as is the case with Devon, but to his ever-protruding stomach. I've tried many a diet, but it seems that if he can't have his grass, he'll eat even the saw chips that line his stall. And so he carries himself slowly on achey legs, much in contrast to Devon's restless canter which would suggest that he may be 23, but feels as if he is only 3.

Yes, my darling boys were in my journals often, but so much more filled those pages. Tales of mountains and rivers, paintings and piano, foreign seas, statues and pyramids, lost lovers and lost pets, newly-found literature or the song of a bird in the morning that somehow changed my life's perspective were all woven into the pages. Some of the journals were small, with artistic pages, others were large, cheap notebooks, spiral bound, with lines that had bled from contact with my soggy tears, but they all were a little bit the same. The ink on paper from the past fifteen years of my life (as I have kept a constant journal since age 5) all told of a girl desperately passionate about the earth and the wonderful creatures in it. How could it be that I have written for all these years with that underlying theme, and it not be my purpose in life to preserve and protect la vida del mundo?

I never knew it until recently, but it seems every big moment was truly working towards this goal.

Devon has come galloping down the hill to bowl me over once again with that long Arabian nose. I've still no treats, but he is content to graze by my legs, ever so often rubbing his cheek lightly on my back as I lie in the field, watching flitting mockingbirds, smelling that sweet hay, and knowing that it all speaks, "Coexistence is possible."

I must leave Devon and Artex in two days for new pastures, though not greener, because in all green there is life and good. I'm setting out on a journey, to work as a veterinary intern in a zoo--my dream job that I began to write about in sixth grade. My horses have prepared me for this journey, taught me about companionship, mutualisms that we don't scientifically acknowledge as such because we choose to engage in them, how to get dirty, how to communicate without words, and I know if they could understand that I must go for some time in order to help educate people, so that other animals can share in the respect and coexistence that they as horses have achieved, well then I know they'd gladly send me off with whinnies of approval. As for my personifying my horses, I will divulge on this topic at a later date. As for now, I am at peace, anxiously awaiting my zoological adventures, thankful that though my location may change, the breeze, sky, sunshine, and the heart within me do not.