I sit deep in my saddle and relax my hips and legs and give the horse a completely loose rein and we look out together over the soft ridges and verdant valleys to the mountains in the distance and I tell the horse, “I don’t know how to be myself anymore.”
I wish he could offer me some wisdom. He’s a horse. He is exactly himself every moment of every day. He thinks simple things. He is afraid so he runs. He is relaxed so he curls up and rests in the sunshine. He gallops. He shakes the flies from his ears. He bucks. He nibbles and bites and rips his food from the ground and chews it thoroughly. He is busy being a horse. He has no time for anything else. He is who he is. He is free to be himself.
+++
The edges of the trail are festooned with billowing clumps of butter yellow lupin. The air is honeyed and viscous and humming with bees. I dismount and drop down on all fours, like an animal, to better see this universe of flowers on the forest floor. Stamens and pistils, pollens and fruits.
+++
Late in the afternoon the horse begins to snatch at tall grass as we move up the trail. He is unsuccessful at snacking, we move at a good clip. It is unlike him to attempt to eat while working. He’s hungry. We pull off into a small meadow, I slip the bit from his mouth and he drops his head and eats. Slowly at first, and then with vigor. I smile as I realize this is the horse version of popping into a gas station — fill the tank, check the oil, clean the windows. I sit down and listen to the horse chew. His teeth on grass are percussive and rhythmic. Ancient music.
+++
Down in the creek bottom the wind subsides. The path of water is dry, the snowmelt a distant memory. The drainage is filled with a vague longing until a spring pours forth from the ground and we ride alongside the merry trickle and it pools in small reservoirs until the spring becomes a narrow flowing stream flanked by wildflowers, willow, elderberry, nettles, huckleberry, salmonberry — thirsty things, they. The sound of moving water is refreshing after being blasted by the cosmos at the heights of the ridges. I look at the terrain as we ride and imagine where I would make my bed if I were a deer, where I would stand and eat if I were a moose, which branch I would employ as a hunting perch if I were an owl.
+++
My gaze zooms in and out. I look at the remains of winter on distant peaks, I look at flowers, I look up the bending trail, I look at the aspen leaves upside down and clattering in the wind like a school of fish in the sea. I tune my eyes to movement. I blink at the sun. I wonder if the horse sees what I see and finds it beautiful. Does he like it here? I look at the horse’s ears as they twist and turn and flicker in their sockets, hot with veins and sweating slightly at their base where bridle leather presses into crimson fur. Those ears are always working, sensing and parsing. The horse has stronger senses than I. I depend on the strength of his senses when we ride together. We become a herd of two — two animals, two hearts, two sets of eyes, one mind.
I think I hear some echos of the thoughts discussed in “The Wolf in the Parlor” here. I’ve got a letter for you brewing in my mind- someday soon I’ll sit down and put it into paper for you. I’ve been having some similar feelings. Love to you and yours- xx
*onto
I only made it to chapter two of “Wolf in the Parlor” and I had to set it aside because I began “The Gulag Archipelago” and it requires my full attention. I do have “Wolf” on my bedside table though so…maybe osmosis…….
I owe you a letter, too. Summer. Man.
LOVE YOU MY BETH!
XX
Some very nice writing–enjoyed this so much.
I’m not a “horsewoman”. I don’t have a horse although I always wanted one. Why do I know of the things you describe? I can hear the creaking saddle, even smell the horse, flowers and hear the land. To me, this is an aching beauty here and where you are.
This time of year seems to bring clarity. Awareness becomes acute, of every plant, mountain, river, animals. It’s gratitude. Thanks for sharing.
“I don’t know how to be myself any more” sounds a little worrisome. I hope that you are finding the ways in nature.
I spent an hour yesterday watching the bumble bees wiggle dance their way around my beautifully-scented wild roses. It was very hypnotic. Today I am taking time to really look at the patterns in my cat’s green eyes, as she is lying purring on my chest. Every day, I pick something that captures my attention and give in to my curiosity, as an antidote to the requirements of being a grown-up š
Iām so thankful for your perspective and ponderings of the world. Thank you for helping me look at the world in the beautiful, whole way you do.
There is so much I would love to say about this post. Sounds like a much needed connective and restorative ride. I’m glad you carved out the time for yourself with this.
Thank you so much for sharing the flowers! They are peaceful reminders for me about life’s beauty, even when fleeting.
Also, I’d love to talk with you about your saddle!
Hang in there through this time that requires much of you. You are in my prayers.
I do love a good account written from the “I” perspective–it transports me into imagining myself in that space. Thank you for the journey into the hills with the horse and lupines (one of my favorite flowers–how glorious they are!)
p.s. you are one of the most honestly authentic people I know. <3
I am so glad you went for that ride. Time in nature always helps me ground and center, soaking in the splendor and beauty surrounding me, the peace and stillness. I stop and snap photos of the blooms too, but yours are always so masterful. š I hope you feel yourself coming home to you soon. Much love, sweet J.
i so understand your beautifully written sentiments, jillian, as i live and breathe them at every turn of my middle age. i, too, constantly seek the solace and connection of horses to bring me back to myself – whoever that ever-changing creature is. they remind me of the absolute gorgeousness of the now. they inspire me to pare down my woes, and reduce my meanderings into the past and the future. their smell. their breath. the warmth of that neck spot underneath their mane makes me feel so alive. and so: okay with the strangeness of me. your thoughts have always nourished my head and my heart, and i hope that you know that you are not alone in the questioning. sending lots of love from montana. xox