Looking out at my tree filled with bird feeders, I am pleased. I have spotted two birds that have not before frequented my little nectar and seed dealership- a greenfinch and a chaffinch- and despite not being native, they are welcome residents amongst the cacophony of Tūī, Korimako, Kākā, Tauhou that flit between the branches.
I know their politics and their order. That the Tūī will outmuscle the Korimako, but the Kākā will outmuscle the Tūī. That the Sparrows will tell the Wax-eyes or the Tauhou to move on, but the Finches are not here to be told what to do by a Sparrow.
Birds fulfil in me a longing, not just of beauty and freedom, but of the possibility of disappearing in amongst the trees, their trunks and steady green a calming presence in a world of hustle, agitation and demand. I admire how one moment a bird can be here and the next minute, they’re not. Enough to leave a smile and not long enough to give the illusion of ownership or control. Every time I see a bird in my tree, I recognize it as a blessing. At times, I yearn for their anonymity.
The birds live on this landscape, just as myself and my horses do, but equally the landscape is a part of us. We are within, without and forming each other. When I ride across the inlet, on the ground of our little farm, I am reminded of a quote from Simon McBurney: Time is vertical. I consider what it is that lies under my horse’s hooves, the many stories that this salt water of this tidal estuary holds. Of the other humans, animals that have walked here.
Horses have always given me a deeper sense of kinship with the world. Their legs allowing me to go places mine would not be brave enough or strong enough to go alone. When I ride the trails, I am aware of my body, our bodies, existing in 360. The 360-ness of our physical selves which blend with our energetic selves; the 360-ness of the landscape we walk on and in and through, ground, mountains, sky; the 360-ness of the history that was here and is in the process of being created, how it is I can be a better future ancestor.
We talk a lot about connection in the horse world but it’s easy for our sense of connection to become another box to tick; a quest for focus, for a feeling to be gained, an emptiness to be filled. I think we need to extend far beyond that, not as the place that we end up, but as the start.
To know, what is the moon phase. To know the land our feet tread. For the start point not to be, who is it that my horse and I are when we are together, but what is this world that we both exist in and do we take the time to remember that and to understand our place in it?
And from there we can begin.
