Gratitude

The quiet did not feel treacherous this morning, as it so often did. The skies, though gray, were not threatening. The old snow, sliding in clumps of ice down the painted canyon into rocky backwash still held some beauty all of its own. It was a moment of peace - a fresh coat of hope applied gently to a troubled world; it was a breath of respite, a gap in the fight, a chance to breathe before it all resumed and went the way it was meant to. Reverend Jane did not make coffee (although it could be said that she needed it to clear her head), but set herself to the care of her horse, thanking it for its courage, strength, and generosity (in letting her lean upon all three in times of great trial). "It is not the first time that a creature with greater integrity and nobility than I has come to help me," Jane whispered as she removed the blankets and brushed him down. "My struggles - bestowed upon and also created by me - deserve none of the attention and remedy that you have seen to provide out of a selflessness and depth of understanding that I consistently lack. Indeed, my perpetual stubbornness topped only by my ignorance may be the most consistent thing about me." The horse turned its head and rested it against hers, its strong jaw placed carefully on her shoulder. "Mayhaps I will never be more intelligent or measured and merciful than I am now," the reverend whispered, "but I will have been in the company of kindred spirits and worthy friends and I feel the blessing of that to my core. I see that, and I see you, and gratitude fills me to bursting." Reverend Jane would manage the coffee and the day as it unfolded, but it was important to have it start the right way.