bliss                                                                          

I had a photo to put here, made up of horse ears and yellow leaves, a thick black mane and enormous feet, red maple leaves--flamboyant, gaudy, lovely--and the bluest sky, riding the ridge-line for hours in the new crisp of fall, bundled up in sweaters and gloves and an orange hunting vests, but it was lost in a glitch of uploading and battery failouts. Even still, it was every bit of bliss.

equus

I am training again--as if I were ever some kind of expert, as if my muscle memory and strength will ever return--in dusty, fenced in arenas, over rails and on the bit, on a tall, eager gelding--my aids (hands steady! legs back! heels down! hips aligned! back straight! fingers closed! elbows bent! head forward! chin level!) a humbling and messy approximation of what they once were. My body is weak and sore and unconditioned, my mind is stubborn and determined, my heart is full and as I come in around the long side one more time--asking him to bend not holding him up with our hands--turning this big brown horse into the jump, it occurs to me in rapid clear fashion that this is what joy is made from.