Moment of Bee

A tribute to a beautiful being in my life.

I can remember the frigid air that seeped down the collar of my coat, the blue-gray sky, and the way that the sunlight sparkled on the snowbanks.  There was no sound in the twilight besides his slow breathing, and the steady thumping of my heart.

I leaned back against the side of the stable.  My tears had frozen to my cheeks, but I didn’t brush them away because it didn’t matter.  Nothing mattered at that moment.  The only thing that was important was being there at that moment, with him.

His long nose was pressed against my thigh, and I could feel the warmth of his breath on my leg.  My mitten-covered hand absently brushed across his wide cheekbone and down the lines of his face.

Bee came to our farm years ago, when I was still young.  He was one of the first horses we boarded, and his sweet owner taught me how to ride on his smooth white back.  He would take me cantering across our fields, the wind tangling in my hair and his mane as my small hands clung to the reins.

I dreamed of having him as my own, but years later he was moved down the street to our neighbors.  I didn’t go riding anymore.  He would get out sometimes, and people would drive past and tell us that our horse was on the loose.  I would walk down there and put him back in, feeling the bitter irony that he wasn’t actually mine.

He let out a sudden low grunt, jolting me back to the present.  His hooves pawed at the frozen earth. 

“Shhh, Bee,” I whispered to him, rubbing behind his ears.

He let out a long sigh that lingered in the silence and relaxed again, and I heard the loud thumping of his heart echoing my own.

I shifted, curling up beside him to share his warmth.  My head found a place in the crook of his neck, and I closed my eyes. 

I had dreamed of having him as my own for years after he left.  I had hoped beyond hope that he would come back to the farm, and that I would be the one to brush him and ride him and feed him.

I’m still not sure how it all came to be, but one day I proudly led him home to his new paddock.  

He was already thirty-two by then, but he still loved to run.  We would go together out to the fields of waving grass, and we’d become one; two wild children with a whole world of possibilities before us.  When winter came, I’d take him on walks and play in the snow.  He’d still get out, sometimes, and run around the farm like a naughty school boy, but I didn’t mind.  He was my own, and that was all that mattered. 

As the months turned into years, my dreams changed.  I began to hope that I’d be there with him when the time came for him to go.

I wasn’t too surprised, then, when I found him lying on the ground when I’d gone to feed him.  I think he had been waiting for me, because when I sat down beside him he finally relaxed and began to let go.

In a matter of hours, he had shifted in awareness from the present to someplace beyond his flickering brown eyes.  The sun set beyond the trees; stars came out in the fading sky as he slipped farther away.

I sat there, my fingers and toes slowly growing numb to the outside world.  On the western horizon, a planet slowly appeared.  It was dull at first against the pale petal of the sky, but the heavens turned royal blue and it pulsed above the treetops, demanding my attention.

I imagined him, then, running across the smooth surface of that planet, his hoof beats a steady thump on the white sand.  His muscles pulsed under his glistening dappled coat, and his tail streamed behind him in the imaginary wind.  I saw him wild once more, no longer bound by the constrictions of a fence or a bridle or a companion.

“There, Bee,” I whispered, lifting my finger to point.  “You are going there.”

It was a slow cycle.  A cycle that became a birth.  I saw a great animal surrender to the pulls of nature, and let go.   I had no choice but to surrender myself, too, and let the moments wash over me like summer rain washing over parched ground.

I don’t know how long I sat there.  I came to a state of silence in those hours, and I realized that time is irrelevant in the face of life.   It is not depicted by the date of birth or the time of death.  It is not measured by successes or failures, by thoughts or things. 

When his last breath came, I was ready.  His energy had washed over me, and I had become part of the transformation that had come over him.  In his birth into a new state of being, I felt a new place of silence grow inside of me.  A place of surrender.  I will never forget the moment that he died, because in that sliver of time, I was the closest I’ll ever be to truth.

 

Author's Note

One of the few non-fiction pieces I've written...

Reviews

[Stan Lee]

Some gorgeous imagery in this write. I could really see you there with Bee. The calm accepting tone of the story was very enjoyable. Thanks for sharing. :)

[Zoli Fern]

Thanks! :)

[Archos]

Very emotional, very vivid. I really enjoyed the reflections at the end, it gives the reader a chance to feel what you must have felt. However, you overuse adjectives sometimes, for instance "his sweet owner taught me how to ride on his smooth white back." That seems a bit too much to me. That's all I have to say. Thanks for sharing!

[Jerryyoung1z]

This is well penned, I love your use of imagery, the reader can clearly see every thing happening. Keep up the good work, and I'm sure your horse is running round that planet right now.

[Zoli Fern]

Thank you.

[M P Ramesh]

zoili,
The narration is an art whether it is literary or non -literary. The moment when original writer touches it , there appears wings. The reader's choice nothing other than to carried away...

Carry on........


M P Ramesh