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Haflingers in the Mist

We've had pea soup fog the last several mornings when I've gone out to do chores. Fog that literally drips from the trees and soaks like rain. Fog that swallows up all visible landscape, hushes bird song, erases color.

It also sucks up the Haflingers as I let them out in the field from the barn. They lead slowly out to the gate, sniffing the wet air, reluctant to be turned out into the grey sea surrounding them. What's to eat out here in this murk? Each one, when turned loose, wanders into the soup, disappearing, as if never to be seen again. One by one they move boldly forward to look for their buddies, seeing nothing, hearing nothing, smelling nothing--lost and alone and bewildered until somehow they meet up in the mist.

I muse at their initial confusion and then their utter conviction that there is "something out there". They are dependent on all the usual cues--visual, auditory, olfactory--all useless in the fog. Instead they rely on some inner sonar to find each other and bunch together in a protective knot, drops of fog dew clinging to their manes, their eyelashes and their muzzle hairs. As day wears on, the fog dissipates, their coats dry under the warming sun, and the colors of the fields and trees and golden Haflingers emerge from the cocoon of haze.

Sometimes we feel lost in fog too--disconnected, afloat and circling aimlessly, searching for purpose and direction and anything that is not smothering grey. Our hope is to bump into a fellow fog wanderer and cling together, relieved in the connection to something solid and familiar. Perhaps our "fog" is the midwinter blues, or constant worry, or an illness that feels overwhelming, or a relationship going sour, or a chemical dependency, or conflicts with coworkers or friends. It may simply be a self-absorbed state of mind, sucking us in deep, separating us from others, apart from joy. We're soaked, dripping, shivering and waiting for the sun to emerge--drying, warming and rejuvenating. The sun is always there, above the fog, though we can't see it or feel it at first. If we only had the faith of Haflingers in the mist, we'd charge into the fog fearlessly, knowing there are others like us out there, ready to band together for company and support, awaiting the sun. And the sun does come, not always as quickly as we would wish for, but soon enough to dry our whiskers and renew our hopes and dreams.

Emily Gibson
BriarCroft Haflingers