Second Place: ...Away

As if it were yesterday, I can still see him. My family would be driving along the winding, tree-lined, two lane road toward town. From the backseat of my mother's often crowded station wagon, I'd crane my neck, elongate and contort myself, to look beyond my brothers and sisters hoping to catch a glimpse of the shaggy, red and white Paint pony, grazing lonely in the long, narrow paddock, with the small red barn behind him. Years later, the man who owned that property became a friend of ours. I'd go over to visit, steal away to the now empty arena, with it's pony-less stable. Once I dared to step inside, where I found a cobweb covered saddle set upon a saw horse in a long abandoned stall. With my hand I scrubbed away the dust, revealing, smooth, rich leather. Using the sleeve of my sweatshirt, I shined silver clasps and buckles. It was enough for me to slide my leg over, straddle this remarkable prize and pretend the pony was alive and moving beneath me. I'd close my eyes and allow a contentedness I'd never known before to wash over me. I went there again and again, not caring if other children spied on me, alone, lost in my beautiful day dream. And then one day the opportunity, like the pony was gone.

A few years ago, the contentedness I discovered as a child returned to me... an expected surprise, something I didn't know would happen which felt inevitable; horses entered my life.

Meant to be.

Absolutely everything changed

yet the alteration was so gentle, so welcomed, so wanted, it caused no disruption what so ever...

And I can hardly recall what our life was like before,

Hours at the stable slowly fly by,

My mind stops whirling whenever I'm inside the barn.

I'm present, in the moment, reacting only to whats around me

and maybe that's the beauty of a life with horses, they literally take you away.

There was nothing I didn't love about horse life,

The smell of hay, the thrill of watching my daughter learn to jump on her beloved horse sweet Johnny Cash

The ease with which I lost track of time and my lipstick, the comfort of jeans, a warm jacket, sensible steal toed shoes.

And then one day, more to love... there was a pure naturalness in how my sweet son shifted into cowboy mode, hopping on Whiskey Jim and easily melding into a fine horsemen, just like that.

Meant to be

I'd heard someone say, "beware of red mares"

only to offer me one a day or so later...

I was likely kidding myself when I told my son we'd try her for a few weeks and rationally decide if they made a good match.

He knew straight away that she was his.
He called her Alaska...

Meant to be

Talented and aloof

fast and clever

words I'd use to describe her and yet I could never describe her with words,

words are not enough to describe horses...

Things changed between my children when everything became equal.

Competitiveness crept up and though there were hours of pure bliss, there were also times of disquiet in a place where previously I'd experienced nothing but peace, and still, I loved the life that formed for us with horses, more then any life I'd ever lived.

When we lost our first love, our stunning Running Quarter, a part of me went missing.

I felt very much like a little girl in a barn on a saddle without a pony beneath her.

I kept waiting for the peace, the balance, the dreamy contentedness to return, but it disappeared. It won't come...

Sad, lost, angry, empty - words I'd use to try to describe this, but words are not enough to describe horses...

And I made a decision not to let anything hurt me this way again

And I decided not to love her the way I did him.

But, "beware the red mare"

I swore I'd never run my hands over her shiny red coat, which was thick and naturally glossy and felt like velvet on my palms.

I'd never sing to her, but you see, she loved the Beatles, especially "Michelle"

...sont des mot qui vont tres bien ensemble, tres bien ensemble....

I would not press my forehead to her long face, with it's snow white blaze and trust her not to shake me off, breaking my nose.

I wouldn't whisper in her fuzzy ears, my prayers to God, prayers for her to be strong again, live long, heal herself and me. "Please heal me, Beautiful"

I'd never kiss her soft muzzle, wouldn't feel her warm breath rushing down my neck.

I'll never make a habit out of tangling my fingers in her thick, rough mane, then smell the alfalfa, sunshine, all the outdoors hours later when I absentmindedly run my hands over my chin.

I'd never risk standing directly behind her, resting assured she wouldn't spook and strike me with her powerful legs.

I wouldn't take a thousand photos of her and never stare deeply into her glowing, dark chocolate eyes.

I'd be reasonable

Keep my distance

I would not fall terribly, horribly, truly in love with her, because I knew better,
I knew that if anything should happen to her, I'd never recover and I'd never, ever, ever be the same.

I knew this, because I lost one horse not so long ago; one amazing, irreplaceable, unforgettable, beautiful, remarkable horse, Johnny, and that broke me in two...

And she, Ally, aka Alaska, has broken me in three...

Beware the red mare

Words aren't enough to describe horses...

and so I'll say the only words I know that you'll understand -

I love you

sont des mon qui vont tres bien ensemble...