He is a good one

I sit in my chair and memories wash over me like waves on a beach, pounding and swirling then receding only to come again. The way it was, but will never be again assaults me again and again. Just the wind in my mind taking me down old winding roads that have no ends, to escape I go out to the pasture and pick out a horse.

He is a good one, a willing one who carries me like the wind as I run from myself into the oblivion of oneness with my mount. His heart is into the run he really wants to run, but I slow down to a canter, then to a trot to let him catch his breath and when he has his second wind we go again.

Hoofs pounding my heart fluttering like a young boy thinking of his first love. Lost to all but my horse’s breath, the rippling of his muscles as he stretches his body for his supreme effort to carry me into a world where there is only me and him.   Into the night we ride as the day ends, changing gates to preserve his strength, we come to the end of the ride, and walk the last mile home. I take off his tack and turn him back to his world, and I go back to mine thinking, “I should have been a cowboy”, but at ride’s end I come back to what is, a bed I sleep in along with my dreams when they come.

Is it just bad luck, or is there something wrong with me that the only long term relations I seem to be able to make are with dogs and horses? I long for the one who will ride by my side and then sleep by my side through the night. The one who wakes up in the morning glad to see me as I am her, but she seems to be only a dream of what could have been had I made better choices. But I am what I am, way too old to change, and I slid off to sleep to dream of her riding a good one as we ride with the wind.


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Rexx