Yesterday morning I went to trail ride at a neighbor's house as I have a number of Wednesdays lately. After our usual 1 1/2 hours or so of walking all around this beautiful property, the day had turned absolutely perfect. I couldn't stand the idea of quitting the ride, so I set out to trot the perimeter on my own before going home. Bree was in the mood also, and soon broke into a nice gallop.
We galloped along the trail at the edge of a huge grassy meadow alongside trees decked out in lovely fall colors, over rises and around bends. Balancing in the stirrups, I could follow her rhythm and feel the strength and warmth of her muscles. The only sounds were Bree's hoofbeats and the occasional squeak of leather, and birds singing in the trees. A red-tail hawk circled overhead and the smell of warm, drying leaves hung in the air. Bree and I were both reveling in the freedom we felt on this, the kind of ride one rarely gets to experience. I was so lucky growing up to have the space and opportunity to gallop, free and wild, across our farm, and this ride took me back many years.
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