Sometimes the horses grazing in the nearby pastures come to the fence and we talk. Or I do, and they seem to listen. Last night, the pastures empty, I walked to the stables, stood before one extraordinary body then the next: massive, lean, muscular, gleaming as if just polished, muzzles pressed forward as I approached, and me too, pressing forward, eager for another visit. In the dark I have told the horses my fears and dreams. Have told them I am leaving soon. Said hello, sweet to see you, have reached out to them as they gather close, wait in turn to nuzzle. Someone has loved these horses, who come near so readily to calm a stranger offering only the sugar of her prayers. That we are never alone is something I want to believe and have come to believe, while alone, deep in the night, taking the path that leads to the horses.