Hippies and horses

Dad, his friend Jenny, and I went horseback riding in Hastings today. Now we’re well fed and chilling. I have that loose feeling in my muscles from a good stint spent on top of a horse. Nothing like it. And Sonny, my paint gelding, keeps it interesting by going along fine and then kicking out when he’s pissed off about something. He’s changed and matured so much from the mental mess he came to me in. If horses and humans can ever be soul mates, he and I have that. Maybe less mates and more a shared piece of soul. All the Pretty Horses by Cormac McCarthy has a line (paraphrased here) that says the souls of horses are terrible to see, for all horses share one soul and go back to the spinning miasma of it when they die. That’s so beautiful and terrible to think about. But I’ve always loved that line.

So it was a good day. Most of the chickens were out when we got back. Zip and Maxine tried to help me, “help” me, get them back in. Actually, Zip on his own might be ok with herding chickens. Maxine is too aggressive with them and gets Zip too excited. But then, Zip is too hard on cattle, far too hard on sheep or horses, so I’m not sure that teaching him that it’s ok to herd the chickens is a good idea. He’s way too tempted to snap at them when they squawk. I’m trying to get geared up to work yet tonight, but it’s already after nine and I have no idea for a scene. My brain is all plastic from riding, all swooly and peaceful. I don’t want to lose that feeling. So maybe it’s a better night to read and let the muse just groove. (See where hanging out with old hippies gets ya?)