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Purgatory - Sunday, Feb. 10, 2019
Tuesday, Jul. 10, 2007 @ 4:18 pm
The sun is strong now, July. I'm in the lake, floating on my back, rolling like a fish through the green warm water. I wash the dust from my arms, face.
Would you say that you are happier than most people your age? No, but right now I am. My legs aching from riding, dust coating my body, salty skin. I swim out past the wading babies, out past the floating flock of geese. Quiet, alone.
Patrick and I worked today. A great day. In the heat, too hot for a heavy saddle, bareback in the arena overlooking the valley. Little by little, I've been working on trotting bareback. Trust, balance. Today it all worked. Around and around the arena, small circles and large, trotting, feeling his body hot beneath mine, but finally understanding how to do this. In my head I'm already considering the canter.
Cantering down the trail on Friday. I move up on his neck. I push him forward. He flattens out and we're galloping. I'm living in my favourite childhood novel. Robins scatter across the trail in our wake, dappled sunshine and the tractors haying the fields beyond. My face pressed into his neck, sweet hay and horses; it all smells so good.
In the lake, eyes closed, thinking about all this. Knowing that this is a summer that I will think about later, about the children who come out of the fields to rub Patrick's nose. About the dense rows of my garden. About the generosity of my new home town.