Down in the Valley, Valley So Low

I am sighing again, but this time it is with sighs of happy, happy, happy exhaustion.

This afternoon, I went riding with Mom and her friend Jill.  We trailered the horses up towards Silver City (one of my favorite places ever) and rode down a trail called "The Crossings"--and I learned how apt the name is when we crossed the river 55 times!  We counted. Well, we lost count at one point because there were so many, but there were at least 55 crossings.

I wish I had taken my camera so I could show you how incredible it was.  I fully intended to take it, but when Mom warned me that I might get pretty wet, I decided against it.  So just imagine this: the river flowed lazily through a valley flanked on both sides by towers of red, iron-rich metamorphosed basalt, where birds wheeled about on updrafts and swept in and out of caves high above our heads. We passed through "Willow Tunnel", a path just wide enough for our horses and barely tall enough for horses with riders. The water was blue and green with algae, with red rocks beneath the surface. Flecks of golden mica shimmered in the sunlight.  Rio the dog would run, dripping, from the water to the sandy banks, where she would roll, and return to the river disguised as some dog-sized sand monster. What a life for a dog--she grinned happily, tongue lolling as she trotted beside the horses and flushed water birds.

The best part of the ride, though, was when we let the horses run up a steep hill and found ourselves facing a long, flat dirt road.  I was in the lead, and just as I was about to pull my horse back to a walk, Jill passed me on the right and issued an unspoken challenge to race.  I didn't even have to ask Mo. He happily lit the afterburners and we tore after Jill and her bay gelding, the wind so loud in our ears that I could hardly hear myself laughing.  I have galloped before, but only in short bursts.  We ran like this for what seemed an eternity, and even the horses were disappointed when we finally had to stop them before we reached a ranch gate. Once through, Mo begged me to let him run again, and it almost broke my heart to keep him at a walk.  "You need to save your energy, big guy," I told him.  When you ride with Jill, you never know how steep the next hill will be.

Like the hill that nearly killed me.  It wasn't so steep as others I have ridden, but the footing was loose, sandy soil that shifted under every hoof.  We literally had to go down sideways, creating our own switchbacks on the unstable mountain side.  I would have been thrilled if I hadn't been so worried about my saddle, which had mysteriously loosened (I checked it twice before I mounted!) and was busy inching its way towards poor Mo's head! As I saw my life flash before my eyes, I thought, "Well, it's a good thing I went through the Temple this week!"

But I made it out alive and happy, and I will live to ride again another day.

These, then, are the things that I live for.