Opening the blinds on the steely post-dawn light, I notice that the horses are back. There are twenty or more of them, black and every shade of brown, snatching tufts of grass and drinking from the shallow river that passes close by our home. Tails flicking, heads tossing, they tread barefoot over the uneven ground. Their stocky bodies move gracefully at a gentle pace. Their manes unfurl like flags in the wind. Puffs of moisture escape their nostrils, and I hear the squeal and nicker as mother and foal walk side by side.

All summer the horses have been absent, I think. But then from June until the end of September, life bustles here. Living on the edge of Ulaanbaatar, we are right in the middle of the traditional area where city families spend their summers which is a time when our normally quiet corner of the city teems with life.

Vehicles choke the roads, shoppers crowd shops and local market stalls while the riverside becomes a carpark for day-trippers barbecuing and partying late into the night. The sound of banging, drilling and sawing accompanies the steady rumble of traffic as property owners renovate their homes. It’s noisy but fascinating too, Absorbed, we watch the comings and goings, intrigued by summer’s frenzied activities.

Come October, the pace slows significantly and by November, as temperatures plummet, the stillness returns. The locals pack up their gers and move to sheltered winter places. Baasan-huu, a herder who lives on the other side of the hill, takes his sheep and goats out to pasture. Every day he leaves his ger in search of the best grazing land.

Fenceless and without roads or bridges, the steppe presents perpetual possibilities for adventure and infinite opportunities to find pristine pasture. But the wise herder knows that the lure of adventure must not divert him from his quiet, settled routine. He must resist the temptation to leave the well-worn path in favour of discovering some thrilling uncharted way. Even though his daily steps might vary a little, his constant focus is to find grass close to home that will nourish his animals because their health depends on it.

Perhaps the horses were here all summer and I just didn’t notice them. Did the noisiness divert my attention? Like Baasan-huu, those who live in this area year-round, maintain their daily routine no matter how loudly the visitors party.

The unassuming presence of the horses is a poignant reminder: that which clamours for my attention can blind me to God’s merciful presence in this world and my life. Preoccupied with the din and subsequent activities, I don’t notice God’s voice fade, that is, until something inside me shouts ‘Shh,’ to the external noise.

With purpose, I seek quiet and stillness, knowing that our wise God speaks softly. I draw closer, leaning forward to hear His word. He reminds me that He is immoveable, unchanging. Constant, close and familiar. I see my capricious nature and vulnerabilities in the light of His steady faithfulness, and with thankful heart receive again the invitation to walk the well-trodden calm path with Him.

© copyright Gillian Newham 2020