Marigold

                                                                                             

                                                                                             Marigold

My morning routine was seemingly the same. I even wrote about it in my morning gratitude journal. Yet, this morning, something felt different. As usual, I went about feeding my mares, taking in as much of nature as I possibly could along the path.

What struck me as odd was the absence of geese around the pond—not one in sight. The usual landscape was different.  There were always geese around the pond.  As I scanned the area, a small object caught my eye at the edge of the pond. It was too balmy for a reflection, but something was there nonetheless. I paused, shifting from soft eyes to laser focus, and saw the limp body of one of the geese.

"Natural," you might say—nature stepping in and writing the screenplay perfectly. I know this to be true. But this little goose was not just a random creature who transitioned to another realm. She had been a part of my daily ritual for quite some time.

One day, while mucking the track, I noticed a goose alone at the far end of the pond. When Walter (my border collie) and I came close, she began to limp away, then flew into the pond for a quicker escape. Neither Walter nor I posed a threat, but she wasn’t sure of that.

She was there every morning and afternoon, and I soon realized her isolation from the flock was due to weakness. As someone who deeply loves, respects, and admires all animals, my first response was that of compassion and empathy.  Having spent the majority of my life with animals—especially the past twenty years—I’ve developed a deep understanding of interspecies communication. Horses have been my greatest teachers, and they helped me nurture this unexpected bond with a little Canadian goose.

As a human, I longed to see the flock protect her. But that’s not their way. Weakness can be dangerous for the group. So, each day, I focused on regulating my nervous system, hoping she wouldn’t feel threatened. My sole purpose was simply to hold space—a warm, compassionate container of love. I tried to bring the right energy to just be. No agenda. No fixing.  Just peaceful presence.

Gradually, she stopped fleeing. One day, she stayed. I was so excited—but quickly calmed myself to avoid startling her. Our quiet ritual continued. I began to speak to her softly,  sharing with her my thoughts of the day.  She began to feel safe enough to remain. Her trust gave me a deep sense of worthiness and purpose. She taught me to attune to my presence and how it was being received. She gave me the gift of being—being in the moment, sharing space without expectation.   

In time, I looked forward to our daily track walks with our quiet companion. Animals offer us profound clarity and honesty, if only we are calm and present enough to receive it.  Horses have taught me that and continue to teach me in deeper dialogues.  Walter, being a border collie, never once chased her. He just understood.

Then one morning, she was gone. I suspected what might have happened. I only hoped she hadn’t suffered and silently thanked her for the time we shared. She was a gift.

About a week later, as I mucked the track (where I tend to solve all of life’s problems), I noticed her floating peacefully at our end of the pond. I was elated, but careful not to rush her with excitement. I paused, took in the moment, and felt an immense sense of gratitude.

The next morning takes us back to the beginning of this story. I stepped outside to find absolutely no geese by the pond. Only little Marigold, lying lifeless on the edge.  Walter and I went over and softly picked up her body and decided to lay her in the area near where I had laid my sweet quarter horse Journey just a little over a year earlier.  As I was preparing her spot I noticed a Marigold growing in an area where no annuals are planted, so obviously caught my attention.  I immediately decided to name her Marigold.  As I finished and expressed my gratitude I noticed a single feather laying beside the grave.  These little moments of awareness touched me deeply and tears began to flow.  

I can’t fully explain why this story means so much to me, or why I feel compelled to write about it. Maybe—just maybe—it’s a long-awaited release. The past few years have held many losses: loved ones, both human and animal; relationships; and even land I was once a steward of. We carry on, saying we're fine—but the body knows, and it begins to let go in its own time.

I believe Marigold was the one who pierced the armor. Since she left, the tears haven’t stopped—tears of loss, of joy, of acceptance. I feel a visceral release, as if a great weight has lifted. Now, there is space for rest and restoration.  A time for healing.

Thank you, sweet Marigold, for deepening my sense of being, for reminding me to pause, breathe, and notice the simple beauty all around.  You nourished my soul and gave me a gift I will always carry. You were the conduit to healing  that I was completely unaware that I so desperately needed.