Come Sit With Me a While
- C.R.Tudball
- Mar 11
- 2 min read
Updated: Mar 12
A five‑part blog series for Highlands Horse & Healing
Winter Mornings and the Quiet That Holds Us
A sharp cold blast met me at the door, harshly hitting my eyes causing quiet tears as I crossed the yard toward the pasture. Opening the gate the horses lifted their heads and with each breath a white plume billowed upward into the sky. Jesi and Lily bounded ahead, unbothered by the frost, eager for the familiar rhythm of morning chores. Rose and Cash observing from their window perches, supervised our activity to be certain the chores were being carried out appropriately, and probably judging us, as any supervising cat squad does.
Winter has a way of revealing what’s essential. The quiet, the breath, the weight of the buckets in my hands—these small things sustained me long before I understood the need to be held, held by what provides hope, faith, and fortitude.
There was a season when mornings like this were the only steady thing left. A season when loss arrived in layers, one after another, until the life I recognized thinned into something unsteady and unfamiliar. Faith, once warm and living, felt brittle and elusive.
Maybe you know something about that kind of season.
If you do, come sit with me a while. Let the moment settle around us. Let the raw elements of nature wake the parts of you that have been sleeping. Let the land remind you that even in a winter season, something quiet and steady is still alive beneath the frost. And that spring is pulling you forward, an invitation to grow from where you are.
This is where the story of Highlands begins—not with certainty, but with presence.
A song to sit with: Red Clay Strays; I’m Still Fine
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