Rides.............

When I was younger, I always had a horse. I would ride all the time and I mean everyday. I would run the  horses or gallop fast and free, sometimes with a saddle and sometimes not. My first horse was named, Jim. He was an ex racehorse. He was a Thoroughbred and was very tall. My sister and I owned and rode him together and alone with our older sister who had her own horse.
My second horse was named Cricket. She was a little bay, part Morgan I am sure, and was a sturdy, stubborn little thing but I loved her. We did everything together. She had been my oldest sister's horse but I inherited her when I was 8 and my sister went off to high school boarding school.

Cricket would buck and jump around and would move when I tried to get on her. She would do other things as well but I grew wary and learned to deal with all of these tricks-traits. I only fell off her when riding bareback and she tripped. Otherwise I would stick to her like glue. I think, in the end, she loved me too. I took very good care of her. I groomed her and braided her tail and mane. She was my good good friend.
So I always had a ride. My little black jeep, now my younger brother's, was my like my little Cricket.

My third horse was named Jackson and he was a beautiful quarter horse that my dad bought for me from my roommate my senior year of high school. It was the year my mom died. He thought I needed a distraction and Jackson was that. My roommate was going to go into the convent when we graduated and she wanted her Jackson to have a good home and he did. He was so polished and the best horse I would ever have. I loved him dearly and he loved me. We spent lots of time together and covered many miles over the years. He moved to Idaho with us and we were happy to have him.

Now I have a smoother, new ride (like Jackson) which the mechanics took in yesterday with a promise that it will be fixed soon

Morning Ponderings

Do the leaves flip over to receive the rain? I think they do.
Does the bird realize there is a black shiny cat sitting under its little hidden nest? I think it does.
Does the deer realize the small structure in the middle of its path houses humans within? I think they do.
I sit here looking out the huge wall window at the many goings on in front of me. Do I appreciate it? I think I do.
Does the bitter, acidic taste of coffee, sweetened with honey and almond milk, improve my brain? I think it does.
Will I always be here to look out at this aliveness in front of me? I hope I will.