A Horse Likes Me
Yes, it's true, dear reader. I, who have always been looked upon with suspicion by animals, have an admirer. He lives up the road from me. I believe he rents space at a farm there and so is a horse of means. He is allotted a modest corral of his own near the road where I walk.
He is brown with a white splotch on his forehead. I would like to say it is a star, but I don't want to misrepresent him. He may think it is a star, though.
Anyway, when he sees me, he walks over. He probably thinks I have food for him or is confusing me with some other pleasant foolish person who walks by.
But I am charmed, dear reader. I practice my French with him.
Salut, cheval. Vous etes brun. Je marche dans la rue. Le velo est jaune.
He nods wisely. Actually, he turns his head to the side to get a better look at me. I had the nerve the other day to put my hand inside the fence and pat his nose. He let me do it.
And so I am in love.
In other news, I am stunbling forward on Rosetta Stone, struggling every day with the male/female thing, but then, who isn't?
Isn't this bizarre? I found it on a defunct blog and hope I don't get sued for using it.
Some things you just gotta share, right?
Meanwhile, I have found my inspiration for living. This is who I was meant to be.
It's "Woman in Blue" by Matisse and it's very Queen Isabella having tea with Christopher Columbus, isn't it? "Look Chris--may I call you Chris--this thing about sailing across the ocean sounds rash to me. And how much did you say it would be? You can't be serious."
The cat in her lap looks overpowered by her strength. Is it a cat?
A bientot, dear reader.
love,
becky
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