I fell from Patrick, alone in the outdoor arena, overlooking Hunt Valley. Cars speeding silently past on the freeway, tiny cars, so far away, and me on the ground picking wood chips from my face. He's galloping away, watching me from the corner of his eye. I sit on the fence, waiting for the adrenaline to work its way from my bloodstream. Patrick comes back, standing a little away from me, and nonchalantly snuffles at the ground.

My neck is sore. My left calf, my left shoulder, my right arm. All sore.

Tell me again, why do I enjoy this?

The Mock Orange Toque, designed by me.
It first mocked me by being pointy on top, and then the naughty toque decided to be too short to cover the ears!