Cold air brushes pink cheeks as boots slap the concrete and the whiney of the Oldenburgh echoes through the stable door,
As hay nets are gathered and weighed and stray strands are pulled from wayward hair,
the ice gathers on the metal roofs and rain patters like musical chimes,
Stables need cleaning and hoofs picking, coats to be left gleaming; brushed and pleated,
Mist surrounds the mouths of all as darkness draws in from the fall of dawn and blankets are readied for field out turns,
Ready again for tomorrow, a repeat of today to clean, groom and feed this beautiful beast, maybe tomorrow the weather will hold, bring on summer rides and fields of gold.
Stop Walking on Egg Shells 
“rain patters like musical chimes.” I like that.
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