This is for those who follow my blog and are on Facebook with me. I know some of you are horse people. Francesca is a wonderful writer, storyteller, and a horse person. Enjoy.
When I was younger, I used to ride horses. Every Saturday, my mother would drive us out to the stables and wait while I took lessons. My parents were always waiting for me while I learned new things. They did it silently, and honorably, and without proper thanks. This is what people do for those they love.
The first time I ever got to ride outside, away from the confined ring of the stables with its little jumps and man-made obstacles, I rode a horse named Tarzan. He was properly named. He was tame, but still a beast. He was sweet, but wild. When he whinnied, the whole barn shook.
We went out as a group into the fields. We walked. We trotted. It was a beautiful day. But then something happened that I couldn’t see or hear. Tarzan got spooked. He took off, running.
I tried to slow him…
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