When I was a kid,I loved working in the stable.
The smell of hay, the way the dust motes danced in the sunshine,the doors of the barn,
opening to the mixed fragrance of big animals.
Doing your work,working together,Helping each other.

In the stable life made sense,there was a place and a purpose for everything.
Each animal and object taken care of, lovingly,The smell of saddle leather,the jangle of harness.
The collars from the big horses, wet with sweat, Pungent, warm,
Hung to dry.
The sweet sweaty smell of a horse being rubbed down after doing a days work.

In the stable, the low of a cow talking to her calf, the nicker of a horse in greeting.
Last springs lambs, begging to have their ears scratched.
The goats that won’t stay put. The cats begging just one squirt of milk.

In The stable there is history.
In a stable there is a sense of calm, waiting.
In the stable,there is peace.