08/09/2026
There is a mare at the ranch named Rosie.
Her person had to move back east and could not take her. She has been trying since to earn enough to send for her. In the months since, I have watched Rosie be lonely, and confused, and angry, and grieving — without knowing that was what any of it was. Mostly she has been unmanageable and needy. I have more or less adopted her.
Last week she was frantic. I turned her out and stayed outside the pen, watching. She was like a toddler — coming close, needing me, then bolting off around the pen, then coming back. She could not settle herself and had no one to settle against.
When she could focus, I went in and stood in the middle.
What I noticed first was my own breathing. Very deep, very quiet. My life has a great deal of chaos in it right now. And still the only thing I felt was peace. I did not need anything from her. I only wanted to be there for her.
After all these years of receiving this from horses, what I felt was that I was enough for her right then — because I was enough for myself.
And then something more exact. When I am in that condition inwardly, enough stops being a category. Nothing to measure and nothing being measured. No expectation of her, none of myself.
We stood in it together for a while.
