November is not the best month for photography, at least not in this part of the world. There is a veil of mist even on a rain free day, caused by the dampness in the ground that takes forever to dry up since the sun barely reaches over the tree tops.
The temperature stays a few degrees above freezing so there is no hope for snow, which would lighten up the landscape.
Weekends circles around questions like whether to keep the horses in the winter corral or to let them stay in the big pasture to enjoy whatever grass remains. The wet pastures are taking damage by the heavy footsteps of the horses. Some places, like between gates and lower grounds, are completely and thoroughly ploughed by notorious horse feet, other places are still in good condition almost unharmed. Considering what’s best for the horses, we want them to feel as free as possible; they do have access to all fenced pastures still.
It is obvious the horses prefer cold dry weather with clear skies, but any day without rain will do. After breakfast they choose a nice dry place in the pasture and go to sleep in a stack like puppies, let the sun dry their warming coats.
After that they cheer us up with some bold games, sometimes a little too bold for fragile human competitors so we make excuses and bow out.
‘Up rose the sun; the mists were curled back from the solitary world, which lay around – behind – before; what booted it to traverse o’er plain, forest, river? Man nor brute, nor dint of hoof, nor print of foot, lay in the wild luxuriant soil.… A trampling troop; I see them come in one vast squadron they advance!… With flowing tail, and flying mane, wide nostrils never stretched by pain, mouths bloodless to the bit or rein, and feet that iron never shod, and flanks unscarred by spur or rod, A thousand horse, the wild, the free, like waves that follow o’er the sea, came thickly thundering on.… They stop – they start – they snuff the air, gallop a moment here and there, approach, retire, wheel round and round.… They snort – they foam – neigh – swerve aside…
(Lord Byron1818, Mazeppa XVII)