I’m just going to start writing. I can’t find a reason not to. As I learn my way around this Word Press world, things will begin to look better, maybe even professional (snort). Until then, I’ll write.
The San Luis Valley is steeped in tradition, flat ground, and potatoes. It has the craziest weather I’ve been privileged to experience and a 360° vista of the wild Colorado mountains. Ancient magic whispers to me when I stand in a windstorm. Well, maybe it’s just an echo bouncing off my sand-clogged ears, but I don’t care we are thriving, my animals and I. Their coats are shiny, the improvements in their various ailments are vast, and I’ve started reading, writing, and drawing a bit. It’s going to be a good fit.
I watch the rhythms of my horses. They are of one mind, like a beehive or a far away Star Trek world. They are a single unit, sometimes yards apart, and other times bumping shoulders. Their manes ebb and flow along their necks as they play like 2-year-olds. Their heads drop to graze then pop up in unison to watch a hawk float across the solar fields.
In order to ride again I’ll need to re-enter their minds, pry them apart so I’m their first thought, their first reaction, a wall between them and their instinct. It’s going to be an interesting process. What will it take to bring us back?
I’m starting with walking to them and catching them one by one to tie them at the trailer. That’s all. I’ll fingerpick their manes and tails, pick up their feet, and maybe move a rib or hip. It’s pretty exciting, in a way. I’m interested in seeing how far and fast we come along.
My timing is off I’m sure, but so is theirs. It will come back.
Mugwump Chronicles 