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NOBODY LOOKING

August 25, 2025

The world, as they say, is turning … turning … turning … Are you turning with it?

She loved this time of year … tree frogs and crickets singing the end of growing time; early mornings, misty and cool. “Come on, fella,” she clicked to her horse and the dog at their feet, as they trotted along the country road, smelling the corn silk, the last of the wild flowers, the fertile earth. With the stray feather of a fluttering dove clinging to a thistle, and a ring-neck pheasant calling in the
cropped alfalfa fields nearby, she thought, “So much like myself … so much like my life right now.”

She was a city girl. Though she had been raised in the country, it was the excitement and opportunity of New York that called her. And she had run for it – run straight for it like a dog after a rabbit; a cat after a butterfly; a horse out of the starting gate.

New York hadn’t treated her very well. Yes, she had made her way with odd jobs and good friends. But, no matter how much she earned, no matter who she met or what fascinating stories they told, something … something … called her. It could be the flick of a squirrel’s tail … the flutter of a sparrow … the coo of a pigeon. Walking on grey cement, among grey buildings and masks of black glass reflecting the outside of everything, but nothing that lies beneath, it could be the color of a leaf falling to the street that caught her attention. It could be the petals of a sad flower, bundled for sale on a cart as someone called out “Pretties for your love?”

“Pretties for your love”… she thought, riding slower now. What an unusual thing to say in a land of concrete hearts and unforgiving glass. So far from home, she thought; so far from herself.

She learned a lot about life in the city. She learned a lot about people trying to get somewhere in a troubled world. By now, she could tell who was bold and brassy, who was weak and timid … who was a
success and who was just another wannabe. She could tell these things without even saying hello. She could tell, just by watching people – which was something she did a lot of these days. People in subways, people shopping, people waiting for … waiting for what? Pretties for your love?

She tried love. Or, so she thought. She went to places where she could meet other people her age, she struck up friendships at work, she flirted. She went to nightclubs and laughed and smiled. Sometimes, she even danced the night away. Love? Why didn’t she feel it? Where was it hiding?

In the city, her feet hurt from walking on cement, day after day. Her heart, too. Passing by the park, she noticed the birds landing for peanut shells and pieces of bread tossed by strangers. Birds had it
made, she decided. They only walked on cement half the time. The rest, they were dancing on air. What did it feel like to fly? Did her heart remember how to jump in the air and smile? Or, like the rest of her, had it forgotten?

It might have gone on like this forever. Year after year; working, wondering … and then, the call came. “Your father has had an accident. We need you.”

She didn’t have to go. She could have put it off on someone else – a sister, a brother. She could have said she was too busy, or she couldn’t get off from work at the restaurant where she was popular, or
said she couldn’t afford the plane ticket. She could have made a hundred excuses to avoid going home … but, she didn’t. Was it curiosity?

Green … green … so lime-bright it almost hurt the eyes hiding behind her shades. Blue … the sky so blue it dwarfed her. People … where were all the people? How could anyone make a living around
here?

Family picked her up at the airport. Taking in their dresses, shirts and shoes, she would have to tell them about style, she decided. She could send them some magazines. What were they smiling about? Didn’t
they know how foolish they looked to anyone with any fashion sense?

Hospital … doctors … nurses … machines … reassurance … fears … prayers … Country roads, dirt lane, pot holes … broken down fences … scrubby trees, the house where she grew up.

And, there he was, waiting patiently in the barn; eyes trusting, heart as warm and true as ever … the horse. The horse she grew up with, old and shaggy now. Waiting as if he could wait forever.

Slugging her bags upstairs, looking around her old room, she wondered how her family had done it. How had they managed to hold on to the place all this time? The dog watched her, and came to her side. “What is it fella? Wanna go for a walk?” They walked to the barn. In a room now covered with dust, she found her saddle. Hanging beside it, a bridle and reins beckoned her. “Touch us …”

A soft nicker came from the stall. “I’ll be there, fella. Don’t worry,” she said, thinking of the television network named for this special, loving sound of horses. Finding a worn brush, and a hoof
pick, she went to work.

Something about the feel of the horse near her, the sway of him as she groomed his fur to a healthy shine, felt good … and right. I wonder what they would say if they saw me here, she thought to herself. I wonder if any of them would understand, as she led the horse outside and swung herself into the saddle. How long since the horse had been ridden, she wondered … would he remember?

He remembered. Carrying her gently, he walked out the lane, beside the cornfield and she was a child again. The world was changing, she thought. Governments were at war; gasoline was expensive, winter would be rough. The father who was invincible was fighting for his life now. It was all too much to bear. She, the horse and the dog were from a time long ago. A time almost forgotten. Dismounting, she took off her shoes, felt the dirt between her toes and smelled the corn stalks.

Like guardian spirits, the horse and the dog trotted with her, never far from her side. What was she thinking? What was she feeling when she sighed; when she stopped to pluck a milkweed pod and scatter its seeds in the breeze? Only she could know for sure; but they could wonder.

Day after day, it went like this. Visits to the hospital of fear and mortality, followed by long, country walks. Finally, after many days of wandering, she stopped. She stopped because she realized that, on these walks, she had been peaceful. Instead of blaring police sirens, she had heard Blue Herons in the distance, and wild geese. Instead of angry and vulgar profanity echoed in the streets, she had heard delicate chipmunks. Instead of fleeting acquaintances, she had known the steady companionship of the horse and the dog. At that moment, she lifted her face to the sky.

The world was bigger than she remembered. Life was greater, and a heart was a mystery with many secret chambers. She could open those chambers. Going back in time, she could unlock golden, glistening
memories … and she could feel them again! If she wanted to.

Into the air went her laughter! Twirling into the clouds went her shoes and her pain as she spun around in circles and danced! She wouldn’t worry any more about falling off the merry-go-round in a world of wars and uncertainty spinning out of control. As long as there were tree frogs, singing crickets and early mornings, misty and cool; as long as there were roads leading us out of the past and into the mystery ahead, she would take the next turn, and the next, and the next after that. If all was lost, she would start over again. Just like everything around her did, year after year, with nobody looking.
With the stray feather of a fluttering dove clinging to a thistle, and a ring-neck pheasant calling in the cropped alfalfa fields nearby, she thought, “So much like myself …”

“Come on, fellas,” she smiled to the dog at her side, as they walked the path together, smelling the corn silk, the last of the wild flowers, the fertile earth. She wouldn’t worry about love any more–
true love would wait; new love would find her ….

And the wise, old horse looked on.

Written by Ron Hevener · Filed Under Ron Hevener, USA 
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