Empty Air

 

I am not one much for filling air with words, not a fan of speaking of what I am going to do, in fact I am a fan of reporting the facts, ma’am and only they.

I am however, also in favor of creating visions, of sometimes using words to put a picture where nothing yet exists except empty air.

And then I build to make it real. That is the proper use of magick as I know it.

Before I tell you where I am heading off to, let me give you an idea of what I am seeing in the rearview.

This time last year, I am riddled with terror that I might not be able to make the transition from self employed horse gypsy to corporate team player. I am filled with anxiety that even if I make the decision to try harder than I have ever tried in my life, save for one thing, I won’t be good enough to make the cut. Stress over where the money comes from in that case as one thing I know for sure, the horse business, for me, is over. 100 %.

I am not a fan of 100% either but there it is.

I stand straddling two life styles, both full time endeavors and there is not enough of me to go around but it works out. I get the job. I am successful in gaining the right to keep my chair. Might not mean much to some but it’s enormous to me. I honor my commitments to the ranch and no matter how exhausted I become, I suit up, show up and do my best everywhere I can.

I have a friend who is fond of saying Big Changes in reference to our rides with Mr. Peter Campbell. Those changes showed up for me in the middle of a thing and helped me make this transformation into something other, more solid, reliable, of a different weight.

And now I am taking them back to the horse. This is what I see for next year. The job fears are as allayed as any such can be. I have given notice at the ranch that my Saturdays will not be spent leading the trail rides so this year it’s time for . . .

The grass glows with lush late Spring warmth, it’s warm green aroma wafts up to me as my horse contentedly munches a few bites before we take up again our work, our play.  Sun warms my face and shoulders and I smile at the friends who showed up to ride with me.

I put out a call for riders who want to come help me and my horse with our trail issues and get some help for themselves in the process. I don’t care what gear they come in though I can’t say I won’t shake my head a little at shank bits on bracey horses who might have to rear a little to escape pressure they don’t know what to do with, and I might want some to be a little handier with their tools, til I look down and realize it’s my own handiness I need to focus on and let other’s knitting remain their own.

We play leap frog, allowing horses that are a little more defensive than others plenty of room while they gain trust in their rider’s abilities to guide them and keep them safe from harm. I keep Royal’s worried feet moving and he doesn’t know if we are moving ahead, weaving through or going back down the line in the direction from which we come.

I focus on the lightness of my seat and hands, doing just enough but not too much to guide my pony. His excitement turns to cooperation, we think about our next move before we are there, it happens and we are on to the next, so smooth.  My friends are having fun too, and so are the strangers that showed up out of nowhere and wanted to join in and play. Now they are friends too.

We do this all summer long, meeting at Cunningham Lake, Branched Oak, Waubonsie, road riding with Christine in the wilds of almost and sometimes Missouri and anywhere and everywhere. We don’t always work, in fact as time goes by, the need for it lessens with every ride. Royal can stand the sight of horses disappearing over the horizon without him.

My thoughts begin to turn to our first Competitive Trail Ride . . . in the distance . . . The season is bookended riding with Peter in May and then again in September. My horse and I can be where we are and grow together into the partnership of my dreams.

This is the beginning, where it starts. Icy winter night. Trailer half paid for, pony with his happy face buried in a hay bale miles away. The vision is in place. Who’s coming along?