I stood at the door and he came to me eagerly. The sheer joy in his eyes when he saw me had instantly put the world back into focus. Leaning against the stable door, I stroked and patted him. He was calm and content - perhaps too calm - because he rested his head on my arm. The entire weight of his head rested on my upper arm which was atop the stable door. Although his head was solid and painfully heavy, it lifted the weight off my heart. His muzzle was over my shoulder, snugly against my back.
I talked to him of my troubles. His ear never turned away from me... always listening. The words made no sense to him, but he was listening to my voice. He was still and quiet, as if to reassure me that he is indeed listening. The weight of his head was cutting off the circulation to my forearm, but I held him for as long as I could. When I shifted my arm slightly, he lifted his head for a moment, before bringing it down again over my shoulder.
Agony seeped out of my body as easily as rain washes the leaves of a tree. Grief was history. He did not retreat until I decided I had to leave. He was there for me, quietly listening, and, in a way, holding me. It takes a lot of heart from a person to listen to someone else's trouble, so you can imagine how deep the soul of horses is. Such gentle creatures' horses can be.