You have to talk them down. Easy, you say in your own wind, soothing, easy now, whoa. But it's the long, continuous sighing breath of the file that stills them, for they know you are through. You round the last edges down and smooth the hard breaks, as one by one they trot through the tack-room door, muscle, mane, shadow, turning their backs to you. Now the sun is out.
Barn swallows brighten the loft.
You watch them break into flight, hoofprints trickling with rain. David Baker is a professor of English at Denison University.