After a fitful night of bad dreams, I awoke to the pain of old scars and old memories. I got up and dressed for the morning Willie run out in the cold crisp air. Hoping to out run it, which never works, but doesn't lessen the try.
Making my bed the minute I get up is a habit that I long ago stopped trying to break. Willie waited quietly for me to leave the room before he tunneled back under the duvet. Temping to climb back in, but weekends are all me, so there is no time for lollygagging abed.
Scars: physical ones, I have a lot of. They are mostly from horses, cattle, critters, machinery, tools, and those moments when common sense was left behind. I never thought about them much till recently when I was at a gathering of women. They were not pampered women, yet none of them had scars everywhere. Their hands were without scars, as were their arms, legs, and faces. The scars don't bother me, though I have scars on top of scars in some places. They cause no pain... except for one old one that should I forget is there will occasional remind me. Though, I sorta would prefer to be able to say when asked by a grandchild about one of them. "Oh, that was gotten while helping a heifer to calve", or something half way noble. Instead of "Well I was leading a colt when he suddenly spooked and drug me a ways before I could get him stopped", or "that was from a Banty rooster attack."
This morning's scar pain, radiating fiercely across the top of both shoulders was likely stress induced. It has been three years... gone... some scars are not of the torn flesh kind. Even Dad noticed and was concerned, damn, because it is not his doing or even anything to do with here.
An extra run with Willie, where I heard a bell cow in the distance, and seeing the start of the wild flower seeds I scattered on the trails last fall, did wonders to mitigate a bad start.