I climbed to the top rung of the round pen and sat. Today the sky was grey and the air was heavy, humid. It felt like the atmosphere was pressing down, filling the valley with hot sleepy air. My horses lay in the pasture and sand pile sleeping away. Gatsby was also asleep, he did not hear me approach or climb the rail. I gave a soft whistle and said to him, "Gatsby my darling, are you napping?"
He stirred and nickered softly at the sound of my voice. I looked in the pen and saw the apple slices I offered him with breakfast this morning. He had taken them and tossed them in the dirt for the starlings to eat. I shook my head.
I hopped down into his pen and walked over to him. I stood at his shoulder, waiting for him to stop glaring at me. I pulled out my chapstick, the kind that makes me miss my sister. His annoyed glared turned in to that curious sparkle I have found myself thinking about. I offered him the tin. As he sniffed and snuffed at the strawberry-banana stuff, it began to rain. Not a down pour, just enough to make the Alder leaves thrum. As the water tapped it's way down the tree, Gatsby turned to watch. His back twitched as the water plopped down on him. He trotted over to his "mansion."
As the rain stopped he re-emerged in to the soft dirt of the round pen. He rolled and soiled the beautiful cedar colored fur. I would not have this. I went to the barn and grabbed a stiff brush. I climbed back into the pen and allowed him to smell and bite the brush. Then starting at his face, I brushed his whole body. Tummy included. I stopped and looked him in the eye.
Slowly, I stepped back.
He stepped with me.
I stepped into him.
He stepped away.
I gave him a pat and stood for a long while, just looking at him.
"Their eyes met, and they stared together at each other, alone in space. With an effort she glanced down at the table." The Great Gatsby by F. Scott Fitzgerald ch. 7

I'll write soon.
Raime