There was a moment at the end of our ride when I looked up, and as though on a timer, the pine trees released their pollen. The norwesterly wind too seductive an invitation, clouds of yellow released on the breeze.
‘Look Merc’, I said. ‘Even the trees are celebrating you.’
My patchy pony- all my ponies for that matter- have been enjoying a few months off, a combination of crazy workloads and family commitments causing a temporary halt to riding plans while I figured out a more sustainable way to do this thing we call life.
Everything had got a little too lifey for my liking and I was no longer willing to have my days roll out the same way– especially if what was falling off the edge was horse time.
With that in mind, I set my trip to the UK as my deadline, told my horsey crew to rest up and rally their resources. Once my feet landed back on Aotearoan soil, I would be present and back in the game.
Had it been possible to open the doors of the aircraft myself and ride back home from the airport, I can assure you I would have been here for it. As it happens, things worked out roughly close to that; after food, drink and sleep, I was happily ensconced out in the paddock the next day.
There is something glorious about being able to grab your halter and lead rope and pick up where you have left off. To be able to walk with a loose rope away from other horsey friends, down windy tracks, past rambunctious dogs and children and out to the arena.
It’s one of those small-big things I never take for granted.
‘You are so ridiculously clever, so, so kind,’ I said to Merc, and I really meant it.
It’s a marvel to me that by some grace of the universe it’s possible for this to happen.
That a human has the privilege of deciding she would like to play together with a horse and that she equally might have a horse that allows this to happen. That she suspects- in whatever way it’s possible to suspect- that this same horse might actually enjoy it too. That he seems to enjoy moving his body with her as much as she does so with him.
How did we get so lucky?
One thing I’ve always observed about Merc is that he thrives on blocks of rest. His body uses the time to untangle threads that previously made his body bound, his mind and heart are keen for the connection.
My previously reluctant pony was buoyant to the point of being frisky. If gaits could be captured in gesture, his trot would be a smile. I matched him stride for stride.
It’s fun when you get to this part; where the forward is more free flow, where the body starts to move as a coordinated whole, where the conversation starts to become one of directing energy rather than attempting to create it.
When your horse reminds you of how you want things to be and what else in life is possible.
