“Everything that is made beautiful and fair and lovely is made for the eye of one who sees.” - Rumi
Today, I’ll write about my own darling Ona. Her name means “graceful”. She came to me with it, and it suits her perfectly. She is truly full of grace…and sensitivity, and whimsy, and all things ethereal. She has a heart-shaped star on her forehead. Her iridescent, cornsilk mane wisps in the wind. Her nose is like gray velvet. In the winter, she looks like a dandelion who’s gone to seed. If I blew her a kiss, I think she’d fly away.
We ride bareback and bridleless. Her feet barely touch the ground. She’s otherworldly…mystical. And yet, she is real. We share tangible, visceral experiences in a factual, physical world. She’s as resilient as she is delicate, as wise as she is innocent, as brave as she is vulnerable.
I should probably write about her history and bodily woes: recently, multiple trips to the hospital for a major surgery, ligament tear, stifle fracture, tumor removal, complications, and debridement...followed by an abscessed puncture wound, followed by a choke, followed by colic; melanomas; a severe high tensile wire fence-related degloving injury to the hind legs that left her scarred and intermittently “off”; reports of having been locked on a trailor alone, starved, and neglected; clear evidence of physical and psychological abuse.
I mention all of this only to illustrate her inexplicable strength. Her iron will is cloaked in feminine softness. She is a living contradiction - a reminder that life is as fleeting as it is beautiful.
Like you and me, Ona is a kaleidoscope. There is perfection in every turn. She holds multitudes of colors and shapes. Some move slowly, others quickly. Some are bright today and dim tomorrow. She chooses what she shows based on how I choose to hold her. And so it is with all of us.
If we search to find the brightest light, we’ll find it everywhere. We only see with eyes of love.
Today, I am grateful she’s alive. She squinted her eyes as the early morning sunlight poured into her stall. She licked her lips at the smell of her mash. She lowered her head while I treated her wounds. She smelled like hay and pine shavings. She breathed in my ear. I told her that I loved her. I can’t wait to see her again.