I’m floating, but am I flying? I drift just high enough to see the catfish clawing at the 12 grain bread loaf. I feel aloof. I’m magnetized towards number One, fighting this endless drift that I try to shake off like salty beach water. It clings. I can taste it in my mouth. The door- not the door. The Drift listens as it hovers me over the roof, and plants me by the window. They’re smiling. I knew they would be. My vision blurs, I heave, trying to catch my breath before it escapes and they notice I’m here. I’m not here, I’m not here, I never was.
By nature, horses are unpredictable. Even so-called "bomb proof" horses have those moments where something spooks them, and you find yourself clinging to a galloping neck down a beach, hoping your horse doesn't jump the metal barrier onto a highway (see my 10th birthday for an example). When I was a beginner, I wanted stability. I barely had any riding muscles, and I hadn't been riding long enough to know all the things that can happen when you enter into a riding relationship with a horse. As I got older, and braver, I had a lot more experience, and craved those green horses, unpredictability, and the thrill of seeing what could happen taking a novice horse over a jump that was way too big. I rode consistently through college, and never imagined it wouldn't be a focus of my life, never mind that I would take any "time off." But, adulting happens, and something I once spent every waking moment thinking about suddenly became a memory. I had a few y...
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