Once there, I remain. It’s not merely the dilapidated, velvet-colored barns that give cause for pause. Nor the dew that settles into place each morning meeting each blade of grass, almost as if the latter could scarce make it through the night. Or could it be the Palomino pacing the fence with her mane draped across her neck like fine silk, almost as if to prove her dignity to the still morning. I awe as I sit in gravel with legs crossed and a clear mind. The oaks tower over me reminding me of my youth. I am reminded that I am mortal and that He who created them cares for me. A starburst of orange, red, and baby blue break the dawn revealing the context of those chocolate-colored limbs. How strange, I think, recalling my former indifference to the mundane.