I arrived at the farm on Saturday morning. It was a perfect fall day where short sleeves with a suede jacket were the perfect amount of layering. The sun was out and the pastures and trees were still green with signs of fall color on the smaller decorative trees. I was happy to the see the horses were in the far field. In the summer they spend days in the barn with a personal fan in each stall window but fall through early spring they are out during the day and in the barn at night.
I stood at the fence looking across the field at the boys. Even at this distance I could tell who was who based how one moved or by catching a glimpse of a blaze. Big/New Moe was gleaming like a sun god with Huckleberry grazing by his side. Pete and Prince were standing at the far fence line seemingly watching the neighbor’s calves romping on the hill side. I continued to search for the original Moe, but I could not see him. I moved to my left and right, but still no glimpse of his lanky, solid black, 26-year-old body. I felt myself growing anxious. Where was he? Had something happened and no one told me?
I went into the house and grabbed my boots. I would start in the barn, though I could not think of a reason why he would be left alone in the barn. As I pulled on my second boot, I looked toward the far field to catch sight of an elegant black horse head extending from a tree trunk. I had found old Moe.
I walked back to the fence line. Old Moe was standing with his tail towards me and his head at the tree trunk. With the deeper shadows the caused by lower sun, I had not been able to see my horse. The old man was enjoying shade and solitude.
The yoga teacher in me wants to make parallels to what else in my life is hiding in plain sight in the shadows. But the cowgirl in me wants to revel in the beauty and health of two horses named Moe grazing in a lush field
The Yoga Cowgirl 
Such a lovely and powerful post, Sarah. We all have moments like this and I appreciate so very much the way you speak of the reflections from the two perspectives. We eventually come home to both, I feel. Lovely photos of those stunningly beautiful horses.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thank you.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Even though I’m not at all a ‘horse person,’ the look in Old Moe’s eye suggests he’d be willing to be friends — and perhaps even willing to share a few horse secrets with me.
LikeLiked by 1 person
He always has been kind a horse.
LikeLike
Old Moe is a good horse, a friend who knows how to be Zen-like and comfortable at the same time. Right there in the shadows hew was. Profound wisdom
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thanks! Old Moe has always been very Zen.
LikeLiked by 1 person
So much wisdom here! Like how we often miss our friends before they are truly gone just because we know they will be going.
Such a beautiful post and picture you paint for us, Sarah! Loved it!
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thank you!
LikeLiked by 1 person
Old Moe is looking content, I’d say. Liking his retirement? Your yoga teacher question is intriguing. Did you come up with some answers?
LikeLiked by 1 person
Old Moe is not liking seeing another being loaded while he is left in the barn. Retirement and failing bodies are hard on all creatures.
Yes, I found the shadow. I knew it was there, but I don’t know what to do. The age requirements for human retirement leave some of us stuck where we don’t want to be any longer.
LikeLiked by 1 person
When my mother was a teenager, she had a horse named Prince.
And there’s a horse named Moe at the barn where my Ella rides.
I loved this post, Sarah.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thank you! My niece named Prince. Moe 1 was shore for his sire Geronimo. Moe 2 was from his sire MoTown something.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Love that!
LikeLiked by 1 person
I love this post and the pictures!!
Thank you.
Joanna
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thank you!
LikeLike
Beautiful analogy.
LikeLike
I love the horses but that landscape with the flaming sky – I am swooning – you have this magic way with photo, Sarah
LikeLiked by 2 people
Thank you!
LikeLike
Nice one. And Old Mo looks like a wise fellow.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thank you. He was a hell of a trail horse for 21 years. Hard earned wisdom in partnership with each other.
LikeLike
Old Moe looks like a wise old soul. Shadows have so much to teach us… Love these pictures!
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thank you
LikeLike
That field and those horses! Just gorgeous!
My heart tightened when I read you could see Moe and have had many anxious moments when a pet gets out of my sight.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Yep! Old Moe is 26 and his body is betraying him. The high end of the life scale for a horse is 30. I don’t ride him anymore, but I spend time grooming him everything I am at the farm.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Wow, that is a long life and it looks young to me. Thank you for sharing a little Moe with us.
LikeLiked by 1 person