The Meadow 157 “They experience the beauty of the horses. The horses are so beautiful that I sometimes… when I’m alone in the barns… sing to them. And when I do, they lower their heads and listen.” “You are talking poetry, Michael.” The echoing of all the voices in the room have become an overwhelming din. “Do you think zebras would listen to me sing the way the horses listen?” I ask. But Denise is no longer in front of me. She is now talking with Reverend Kruger. No one notices as I grab my jacket. From the corner of my eye, I spot Phillip Farmington talking to James Pickett, the outrider. I wonder how I missed seeing him until now. As I leave, sitting at a small round table in the kitchen, I can see Bill and Lalo with half a dozen empty cans of beer lined in front of them. When Bill looks up and sees me, he slurs: “You have a gift, Michael. A real gift.” I manage to return his smile as I hurry toward the glass door and walk out into the freezing night air. Ten million stars light my way toward Mary’s Child. I grasp a large cinder block as I pass the maintenance garage. Standing in front of the gates, staring at Paul Blocker’s hand-painted sign reading, Rest Briefly Here in Peace, I raise the block above my head with both hands and bring it down on the padlock. The lock opens beneath the blow. I undo the chain, and swing the gates open. Beneath the stars, Mary’s Child looks like a beautiful bay-colored champion who is resting for the night. I ignore the frozen blood around his nostrils. I bend down and rub his head between the ears. I massage his frozen muzzle. “Hey, boy,” I say. I shake my head and collect myself. Rising to my feet, I turn
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