Spring Evening on Blind Mountain
I won’t drink wine tonight I want to hear what is going on not in my own head but all around me. I sit for hours outside our house on Blind Mountain. Below this scrap of yard across the ragged old pasture, two horses move pulling grass into their mouths, tearing up wildflowers by the roots. They graze shoulder to shoulder. Every night they lean together in sleep. Up here, there is no one for me to fail. You are gone. Our children are sleeping. I don’t even have to write this down. Louise Erdrich