15/03/2026
Day in the Field with Gandalf and Bear
The morning sun stretches across the field, casting long shadows over soft, dew-kissed grass.
From the far end, Gandalf appears first. His huge 17-hand frame towers, but he moves with the patience of a saint. With a joyful buck, rear, and roll, he races toward me, kicking up little clouds of dust, mane flying. His eyes sparkle, and I can almost hear him thinking: “Look! It’s me! Look how alive I am!”
Not far behind, Bear trots carefully, keeping an eye on Gandalf and then glancing at me. He gives a soft nicker, saying: “I see you. I’ll come close… but only for a little while.” He steps near, gently mouthing my hand, testing the safety of the moment.
Gandalf slows as he reaches me, stopping a respectful few feet away. Carefully, he turns his rump toward me, inviting my hands to scratch that oh-so-perfect belly spot. His face contorts into the funniest expressions, a mix of bliss and mischief.
Bear lingers nearby, watchful but relaxed, taking comfort in Gandalf’s presence and the calm energy of the field. Every so often he steps closer for a nuzzle, then back again “this is enough… for now”, his eyes saying.
Together, the two form a little herd of trust and joy. Gandalf celebrates movement; Bear treasures measured closeness. And me? I stand there, grinning from ear to ear, soaking in every nicker, every playful buck, every silly face, every heartbeat of this tiny, perfect world we share.
In this field, there are no demands, no fear, no past pains—just a trio of friends, fully present, fully alive, and fully connected.