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Jun. 15th, 2005 01:38 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
sai_delgadoIt's rarely much past sunrise when Susan goes to the stables of a morning, and today is no different. She enjoys it, say true-- this early hour outdoors with few or no people around, the sight of the dew on the grass shining as the first light falls on it, the simple peace that comes with dawn.
The horses are accustomed to her habits now, as well, and she can count on seeing heads over stall doors as she steps inside, on being greeted with whinnies and nickering as she deals with things important to them-- matters of water and hay and grain. A pat here, a soft word there, the occasional apple or carrot or other treat. Small rituals, of the sort that have always mattered to Pat Delgado's daughter.
(Even if you could go home, Sue -- would you choose to?)
As she works, Desire's words come back to her occasionally, although she doesn't dwell on them. Susan knows the answer, after all, and knows it very well indeed-- and has known it for some time, although she doesn't think about that either.
When the morning's work is finished, she goes back outside and moves with light quick steps across the now sun-dried grass to a stand of flowering bushes that curve in a gentle arc by the water. There Susan sits down, reaching out to gently brush a finger against the deep red petals of a single rose-- and then she leans back, golden hair falling back over her shoulders and face uptilted toward the sun, almost seeming to listen for something she can't quite hear.
This also is a routine, although she thinks it's one she'll never take for granted.
(the idea of it... a heart of light and love)
She stays there for some time, quiet and thoughtful, while the sun rises higher in the sky. Eventually, Susan climbs to her feet and moves on to the rest of her day.
The horses are accustomed to her habits now, as well, and she can count on seeing heads over stall doors as she steps inside, on being greeted with whinnies and nickering as she deals with things important to them-- matters of water and hay and grain. A pat here, a soft word there, the occasional apple or carrot or other treat. Small rituals, of the sort that have always mattered to Pat Delgado's daughter.
(Even if you could go home, Sue -- would you choose to?)
As she works, Desire's words come back to her occasionally, although she doesn't dwell on them. Susan knows the answer, after all, and knows it very well indeed-- and has known it for some time, although she doesn't think about that either.
When the morning's work is finished, she goes back outside and moves with light quick steps across the now sun-dried grass to a stand of flowering bushes that curve in a gentle arc by the water. There Susan sits down, reaching out to gently brush a finger against the deep red petals of a single rose-- and then she leans back, golden hair falling back over her shoulders and face uptilted toward the sun, almost seeming to listen for something she can't quite hear.
This also is a routine, although she thinks it's one she'll never take for granted.
(the idea of it... a heart of light and love)
She stays there for some time, quiet and thoughtful, while the sun rises higher in the sky. Eventually, Susan climbs to her feet and moves on to the rest of her day.
