Donkeys, Words and Almighty God

One of my daughter’s most favourite activities is to visit Bransby, a rescue centre for donkeys, horses and mules. It is a quiet place with endless fields filled with lush grass; a sanctuary for creatures who have experienced the dark side of the human race.

We’ve been coming here for two years and now it has become one of my favourite places too though some of the reasons are different to that of my daughter.

There is something about visiting these animals that instills a calm in a person. Some with liquid brown eyes, soft, satiny fur, their silky muzzles nudging a hand for tasty morsels, and others short and stocky, their rough hair caked with mud where they’ve been rolling in the dirt.

My daughter connects with each one, unhurried in her murmurings asking how they’ve fared since her last visit, filling their faces with soft kisses. I watch, mesmerised by their gentleness, these great hulking beasts communicating with my daughter. There is a mutual understanding, a spiritual bond, something that can’t be seen yet even I can feel it. She lifts her head to the heavens; a soft breeze ruffles her hair. It’s just her, the donkeys and Almighty God.

As my daughter engages with these magnificent creatures, I take out my pen and notebook and begin writing. Words tumble and fall, resting their evocative notions on the page. The warm, summery silence fills my mind full of promise, sentences form and my imagination runs amok. Black ink on thick, white paper fills me with wellbeing.

There is a mutual understanding between me and the page, a spiritual bond, something that can’t be seen yet I can feel it. I lift my head to the heavens; a soft breeze ruffles my hair. It’s just me, words and Almighty God.