Fresh Eyes

I’d been out at the barn almost every day for the last three months, so when I came back from a trip to the East Coast, it felt like I’d been away for ages. Even after just a week, things were different. Ransom’s roan coat looked darker and sleeker than before. The weeds in his pasture had sprouted overnight, bursting into yellow blooms. The spring green hills were now almost overtaken by summer’s dry gold.

Time hadn’t waited for me, but it couldn’t hide its subtle changes from my fresh eyes.

Ransom was more interested in eating with nimble lips the purple buds of a prickly bush than in re-enacting a joyous reunion. But he looked at me as if to say, “Where have you been?” I watched him, feeling a bit of that spark of excitement I felt upon first laying eyes on him. When I finally wrapped my arms around his neck and pressed my cheek against his silky coat, I knew how much I’d missed him.