Reflecting at 50

Without saddle and bridle, I rode my friend, Chase, around the back hill of the farm, across the high grass, around the knob of the hill. It was a slow journey…not rushed, no particular destination…and it was a shared and mutual experience…no hierarchies…no goals or determinations. Eventually, my young, skinny inner thighs could no longer tolerate the sharp spine of the pony and I lazily fell off, leaving Chase to graze the fields without me.

I then descended the back hill and returned to the farmhouse which, in my opinion, was haunted by souls of the dead, pre-emancipated slaves of the Civil War.