Beauty is the view of the horses while they eat in the mornings. The sight of the truck and trailer tells them we're going somewhere for the day. Beauty is arriving at a trail ride to be greeted by so many friends that we don't see near enough. The catching up commences as we tack up to ride out.
Beauty is the way my horse nudges me as I pull his head down to bridle him. Sometimes it's unclear if it's a love nudge or a "don't touch me" nudge, but either way he loves me (I think).
Beauty lies in the fresh air, with occasional hints of horse sweat and sometimes manure. It's a beautiful site to see a group of horses going across a field, with riders talking and laughing about horse things and riding adventures.
Beauty is a day trail riding with friends and family across beautiful country, on incredible horses.
Beauty is climbing into a tree-stand just before dawn while trying to be quiet. There's beauty in the sun peaking over the horizon, making the November frost glisten across the ground. The woods come to life as the birds begin to chirp and the squirrels start moving around. The sun melts the frost in the trees, just before it drips down to hit the fallen leaves on the ground.
Soon enough everything is thawing in the woods behind me, sounding like a rain shower. Beauty is a pair of deer walking out of the woods, cautiously looking around as they enter the field. Their warm breath is visible in the cold air as they start to graze and move about. Beauty is the warmth from the sun, thawing out my hands, toes, and nose as it rises for the day. It hits the back of my neck just right, making me cozy and tired. Beauty is time spent in a tree stand, watching the woods wake up.
Beauty is, throwing out duck decoys thirty minutes before dawn, trying to create the perfect spread. It's standing waist deep in a flooded cornfield on a cold December morning, watching the darkness turn to light. As it gets lighter and lighter someone checks the time, "5 minutes til shooting time."
Beauty is the excitement and adrenaline rushing through my veins as the first group of ducks circles the decoy spread, looking for a place to land. We stand side-by-side calling and watching the ducks as we reach for our guns just in case they come in closer. The first shots of the morning ring out, marking the beginning of another hunt. The beauty is in the jokes and stories being told among friends, while we wait for the next group of birds to show our decoys some interest.
Beauty is the excitement of watching ducks fly over a flooded cornfield on a crisp, December morning.
What beauty is to me can be different from the opinions of others. I look for beauty in the things I do outdoors and in the memories I make along the way. Where do you find beauty?