We are well into autumn, which means that the grass has suffered a few deep frosts and no longer has the nutrients to maintain horses. The small horse who can live on air is delighted to be rid of her muzzle. I now visit the hay loft daily, tossing down flakes for night feeding, when the easy keeper is kept separate from the others. Each time I open the door and smell the hay I think of Hay Brick Study, one of Clayton’s quick morning painting exercises of the large bales of hay which dot the fields around here after each cutting. The mare and I hold onto thoughts and smells of the lush Pennsylvania summers for as long as we can.