05/01/2026
In the deep mid-winter,
when the ground is iron hard,
Water buckets freeze solid,
and the dark comes far too fast.
Steam rises from warm nostrils,
rugged backs beneath the stars,
Hands numb through soggy gloves,
mud somehow everywhere — not just the yard.
The arena is a mirror,
the lanes a test of nerve,
You question all your life choices
as you trudge out “just to check” (again).
The horses stand unmoved by it all.
Unbothered.
Fed.
Watching you like this is perfectly normal behaviour.
They do not mark the days.
They only know:
hay arrives
water matters
you came back
In the deep mid-winter,
there are no rosettes,
summer dreams that feel very far away,
no pressure to progress.
Just care.
Consistency.
Showing up when it’s cold and thankless and quiet.
And somehow —
this is where the bond deepens.
In frozen mornings and last checks at night.
In shared breath in the dark.
In choosing them, again and again,
when no one is watching.
This is not the glamorous season.
This is the faithful one.
In the deep mid-winter,
love looks like hay,
and warmth,
and turning the lights off knowing
they are safe.
![Such a sad day [for Dressage] and Horse lovers everywhere.Our thoughts go out to all concerned 🙏](https://img5.findhealthclinics.com/634/666/1322460636346660.jpg)
