I grew up with horses; rode almost daily. Horses and dogs provided the calm nonjudgemental regard I lacked in my chaotic family life. Horses provided an escape. As long as I was riding, I was not at home where I was a target for shame, ridicule and punishment.
I have not ridden for years. I sold my last horse several years ago. He and I were never a good fit anyway. He wanted to be a big silly pet, willful and distractable. I wanted a calm uncomplicated trustworthy companion.
My niece has been bugging me for the past year or more to come ride with her. She lives about an hour away. I finally did it. I was loaned a big, tall Missouri Foxtrotter named Rain. She was a dream. We rode for miles and miles, up trails that let out onto mountain peaks with breathtaking views. We forded streams and waded through mud.
I felt like I was breathing sweetened air. I seemed to float on that gaited mare. We sometimes flew through the woods, the trees blurring past and my hat threatening to leave my head. I felt exhilarated and giddy. I felt a hole in my soul being mended.
As we ended the ride and I groomed my mount, I could not stop smiling. I had gotten back the horsewoman in me, and I had missed her. She has always been a good friend of mine.
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