Fetlock icicles jingle as the horses chase each other around the pasture. Snowcapped ponies bound through knee-high drifts. Blankets of all colors decorate each pony, and they resemble balls on a pool table as they scramble to and fro.
This winter makes me long for summer.
For days that sizzle with sunlight.
For horse shows and flyspray and sunscreen and campfires.
For days that I don’t need to shovel mountains of snow.
There are 42 days until spring.
The ponies frolic and play amid the snow. They snort and buck and make snow angels. They don’t notice the cold, and they barely blink at the frozen landscape.
Maybe someday I’ll take a vacation to somewhere warm during the winter.
. . .
When I’m retired.