17/12/2025
There is a particular weariness that comes not just from rain, but from endless rain the kind that seeps into the land, the body, and the spirit alike.
It’s hard when the place that grounds you, that steadies you, becomes difficult to reach. When the field turns heavy and holding, and time with the horses has to be shorter, more careful. That loss is real, even if temporary.
And yet I remind myself that this too shall pass.
Nature knows what she's doing, even when it’s inconvenient for us.
Over three weeks of rain is the earth drinking deeply, filling its reserves, softening what has been tight. Boggy, sticky ground is awkward, yes but it’s also a sign of saturation before release.
Fields dry. Water finds its way. Hooves lighten again.
Until then, presence doesn’t disappear it simply changes form.
Shorter visits still count.
Standing at the gate still counts.
Watching the horses move, even from a distance, still counts.
Listening from the edge of the field still counts.
Sometimes winter asks us to love the land without fully entering it.
And there’s something quietly faithful in that too.
May the rain ease soon.
May the ground find its balance again.
May the field firm under your feet, and may the time you long for return to you softened, not lost.
For now, you’re doing exactly what the season asks: adapting, trusting, waiting without closing your heart.
The herd feels that.
