It’s that long dark line holding onto night as a faint light unfolds above it with shades of orange, pinks, and reds. They consume the starts first, slowly making their way into wider bands, and visible through the windows, head high, on the west and east sides of the barn.

My favorite part of the day, standing in the open and lining up the windows to see that magical light on the other side of the barn from where I stand, still in the dark of the night. Looking up, I can see Orion or a piece of the moon, or Mars, Jupiter, or Saturn, depending on the season.

In the East, the outline of the horses’ ears moves in and out of the gathering light while they make their way toward me and the hay they know I’ll throw over for their breakfast. Sometimes a wuffle or snort, or the call of coyote or cow comes my way, but mostly just a quiet stillness—a waiting for possibility.

Because in that moment, every single day, is a promise I make, an agreement, a prayer, a calling out to the universe. And one day, when the time is right, or maybe wrong, I will answer that call, that prayer, and I will live in that expanding glow of light, taking with me the wild peace of night, stars, and moon, and I will ride beyond all boundaries I’ve placed on myself and become the dawn.