The price exacted by a culture determined to keep us in our place is high. It has always been high and I think it may always be high.
“Don’t feel sorry for The Teaser,” our guide told us, though it seemed to me more likely we might feel sorry for the mares.
Wilderness can be healing. So, too, can the company of horses… they give a woman perched bareback sustenance, reassurance, even love.
Now and then, due to luck or grace or the peculiar workings of that agency those of us who have any sense call A Higher Power (drawing the line at The, though), people come back into my life, vastly changed but still recognizable, at least after a while, as newer versions—reincarnations—of people I lost or sloughed off years ago.
Galloping across a dusty plain may be the best possible preparation for dealing with the complexities of negotiating a woman’s life in the twenty-first century.