Since there are only 5 of you reading this blog I thought I would share a piece that I am working on.
Hopefully by putting it out there I will get to courage to just write the damn book already! Be gentle.
The small sedan passed through the gated entrance where the pavement came to an end. As the rental car’s suspension creaked and whined on the bumpy gravel road, it occurred to her that if she had been thinking clearly when the plane landed she would have gone with a Jeep. Thinking clearly was something she hadn’t done in weeks. A vast fence line sprawled out on either side of the long driveway holding behind it rolling hills of lush green grass. She began to breath deeper as she took in the countryside, a new long lost peacefulness washed over her. Separate pastures lined by white rail fences started to emerge as the long driveway continued to unfold. A small twinge of anticipation started in her stomach, “he” was here. In the distance stood a small herd of horses, their coats all the same bright red color, similar to that of the first changing leaves of fall. This was the spot on the property where most visitors would stop and stare. The horses red coats stood out against the green grass, each one groomed to perfection prior to being turned out. Long flowing manes and tails, gleaming copper dapples, each of them exceptionally conformed. To any horse person this would be a sight to see. She hardly noticed them; she took a deep breath to settle the butterflies that had begun to rise up. The dirt driveway started to smooth out as it climbed higher, she was getting closer.
The fence line started to change, painted wood post and rails were replace by more expensive white vinyl boards. Behind them was a vast single pasture, as least one acre in size. Another agonizing wave of anticipation washed over her, this had to be it, this was where he would live, separate from everyone else. The car skidded to a haul, the loose gravel giving way as she slammed on the brakes. He was there; she almost burst into tears at the sight of him. He had his back to her, but she knew it was him, she would recognize that hind end anywhere. Even after so many years she knew his body better than the back of her own hand. She remembered the rope scar on his left gaskin which he received when he was only 2, an injury she didn’t like to think about. There was the small indent on his neck under his long black hair often referred to as a prophet’s thumb. She began to recall every bump and mark as she drove further up the road, closer to him. She imagined the feel of his warm muscles under her hands, her fingers longed for the feel for the feel of his coat. Too long had her fingernails been clean, she was dying to destroy her manicure and any other part of her that remained in the corporate world. This was where she belonged, dirty in a field, under the vast blue sky with him.