Imagining a Perfect Morning
It’s seven in the morning on a June day and I’m riding up the canyon, listening to Thorpe Creek chuckle. I appreciate the fresh rustle of aspen, different from the dry warning in October. I feel the twinkle of sun and shade in the morning light.
I’m surrounded by a bouquet of scents—horse sweat, saddle leather, sage, and wild rose—and I feel beneath me the sensual movement of this mare as she makes a quick jump over the creek and then the lurch and jerk, while climbing the rocky trail. Her gait smoothes out as we wind around the hillside, the sun bearing down. The saddle creaks and she moves the curbed bit around in her mouth.
I’m not thinking about anything on this ride. Nothing.
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