Friday September 17 2010
It is almost a physical ache. A fathomless hole to fill. This urgent craving to ride.
This urge to wrap my fingers in the mane and to look between the ears of my horse down a trail. To feel my fluent horse cover the ground. To be in open wild spaces. To canter along the ridge. To race the thunderstorm. To follow the curve of the hills. To dance through the forest. To conquer the mountain.
When I am home, I gorge. I devour the trails. I gulp the miles. I inhale the sage and the stars. I guzzle the land.
Between the satiating sustenance, I starve.