It was one of the last of the days of the shortening light. A grey misty December afternoon where the light was fading all too soon and the blustery winds of winter swept in across the valley. A lone Hawk perched high in the naked limbs of a weather stripped tree calls out to his kindred across the expanse of openness that is the fields. Fields that will glow emerald when the sun returns to the land and the hours of light overflow the hours of dark. For now I am content to sit on the back of my winter coated horse and watch the meanderings of the foraging birds. Allowing the last of the darkening days to feed my soul, to allow me to gain peace, for one must embrace the darkness to savor the light.   A scent of wood smoke from a distant hearth drifts on the breeze, in my mind’s eye I can visualize the glowing embers and the warmth of a family gathered round. A peace that is the cawing of the crow, the rustling of the birds and whisper of winds through the pines provides solace to my ever turbulent thoughts. This could be a vision from a medieval time hundreds of years ago, or the view from the first farmers of these gentle fields, but today it was simply those of a woman escaping the hectic pace of her century. This is my time, my space. Wicked, wild and untamable. Nature’s realm.  Here I draw my strength. An immortal reckoning that has sustained those of my kindred for more than a millennia, longer than time has been tracked by the fastidious records of man.


The raw power of the beast between my legs gives me wings to fly. An animal so strong he could kill me without a second thought. Yet a creature of the wilds as well, who chooses to be my accomplice as opposed to my opponent. For it seems, when we choose run the grasslands and hillsides, our beings feed on each other’s joy and reckless abandon. We tempt the fates over the fences that block our paths and hinder our flight. We dance through the mists all powerful and in an ecstasy of unity that few can comprehend. I am his sustenance and he is my light. Woman and equine, the rawness of the life giver who must abandon fear of pain to do her duty and the nobility of the steed that carries her so gallantly in a unity of power and mind. Yes tomorrow the world awaits. But the time is now to savor that from which I will draw my solace when the days in the pulsating chaos of the city become tenuous. When the noise of the dissatisfied masses reaches a crescendo, I will allow myself to detach and revisit that oxer that seemed so incredibly high, yet my companion and I cleared  with such ease. Take my mind to that moment midflight when we both cared not if we if landed at all, the freedom of being untied to earth an elixir we drank uncaring if it destroyed us in the end. Such experiences allow one to defy fear and silence the sounds of things we care not to have visited upon on our being. The ability to simply leap and fly to the other side of the miasma and move on.


Oh yes, in few hours I’ll be back in my car in the endless blood red river of taillights that takes me in to the city. I’ll turn on my computer and see the ruminations of my likeminded sisters all over this great land who’ve done the same as myself. Photos of rocky ravines negotiated, snowy fields raced across and mountain vistas viewed. Fences that were too high, yet sailed anyway. Streams too flood swollen, but swum anyway. Speeds far too fast, yet galloped anyway. Horses still green to the rider, ridden anyway. Oh yes, the glove snug jeans will be shed, boots will be left in the entry way, and tomorrows business outfit of choice will be assembled. But when morning breaks and  we amble out the door into the world of commerce, I’m quite certain we will all give a wistful gaze to the crumpled jeans and the barn muddied boots. This weekend in the pastures was sweet fiery mead to our wild essence, but Monday morning will be strong black coffee to our fiery spirits. So we will jump the worlds fences far too high, swim the world’s streams far too swollen and run through the week way too fast. But come dawn Saturday that Hawk is going to call, those winds are going to whip and I like many are going to once again eschew the cement world and ride the open expanse that is the breath to our once again pounding heart.