Sixty-something woman shares ruminations as she plys the latter third of her life with the caveat that age entitles her to be absolutely outrageous whenever possible.
Tuesday, July 17, 2012
Portrait of my youth...
It is interesting to me that so many people do not believe in God. I look at all the wondrous creatures that share our little podunk planet, and think we are so blessed. This is one creature that made us what we are today. Without the horse, we would have been stuck in the hunter-gatherer stage a whole hell of a lot longer, for sure. And they are such gentle things, so strong and powerful, yet fragile, too. This one reminds me of Bridget (named after Bardot, herself), a palomino my steady's Mom got for herself when I had usurped her big gelding on the weekend romps around our lovely countyside. Bridget came from the glue factory, literally. Rescue horse. And she was just fine, that little filly, even if she did pronate rather alarmingly, and occasionally, just run in the opposite direction. My mount, Big Fella (lack of imagination has never been my problem, but I didn't name him), a strawberry roan about 70 feet high, loved going up hills and often took them in amazingly big leaps. However, downhill scared him, so we were always in the rear of the parade. Ah, the teenaged days of being saddle sore. I remember them well.