Yesterday, as I was peacefully writing, four horses stampeded down the hill from the farm next door, just a few yards from the window, trampling the brush and racing into the clearing. One minute I was in a quiet Zen-like Om-worthy cabin, and the next I was in the wild, wild West. They were totally psyched to be free, pirouetting on their hind legs then taking off toward Hunters Road. Uh-oh—that can’t be good. I ran to call Lorraine, the neighborhood horse whisperer. She was