Music is the space between the notes.
~ Claude Debussy

When my Percheron horse Toby shuffles away from the herd and stops squarely next to me, pressing his big-hearted chest against the stock panel rails, thick neck unfurled, muzzle high, sniffing the air, swinging his lush tail back and forth like the metronome on top of my daughter's long-silent piano, trying to fathom what it is I'm looking for somewhere beyond the fence line—the first star of the evening, a silver curtain of rain rippling towards us through the mountains, a rumbling thundercloud, or something other that I couldn't name even if you asked me—I smile to myself, enjoying the gentle pianississimo of his oversized company.

Flickr photo: The Hills are Alive