It isn't all hearts and flowers...
The difficulty of public blogging is self-censorship, of wanting to paint a certain picture or write a certain story. This has been "The Best Of," but there have been unseen sorrows and fears. Many tears have been shed between these lines.
Things don't always go according to our hopes and dreams. I could write a novel on the thought process that has gone into the journey of this past year, but the Tall Bay and I have come to the fork in our road and I have made the decision to sell her.
I think in a way we are too similar - both over-thinkers, worriers - and we amplify this trait in each other. We spent some time apart and we both became happier. There was a heaviness I was carrying around that doesn't belong to the thing that usually brings you joy.
I rode a horse in Spain that told me, as horses will, all I had not been saying. From the ever-smaller circle of my comfort zone with my own horse, I cantered a strange horse in a field of wildflowers while an unruly boxer cavorted underfoot. Mundo showed me the world. He said "remember this?"
I have spent so much time in my head, and talking to others (most from the outside were not surprised which was a humbling perspective) that I hardly know what to say here.
I don't know what this will mean for my future with horses and for this blog. At the heart of it, from the beginning, was Coro, and perhaps his stature leaves no vacancy. Our activities are limited these days - he is now 24, with a Grade 3 heart murmur and enjoying his retirement.
Last weekend I carried a brush and a bridle out to his pasture and hopped on in jeans and a helmet, sans bareback pad. Notchee followed us as we wandered across the sun-warmed field. At that moment, it seemed like enough.
Selling a horse is foreign to me. I'm caring for mine and my mother's that we have had for twenty years...but the Tall Bay's arc is just starting. I watch her like a grand caravan just out of reach.