The hills and valleys in the crochet remind me a little of the hills and valleys of Virginia. The last day for the season of foxhunting was Saturday, and despite a little mix-up about the time of the meet, Joshua and I made it there in time. Maybe only you other riders will know what I'm talking about, but it was one of those 'zen' days on horseback. Without thinking about anything, I melted into a kind of meditation of movement and it was just my huntin' horse and me, up and down hills in harmony with the world, for an indeterminate amount of time.
That's not to say it wasn't an eventful day. One woman's horse fell on the blacktopped road and she broke her arm (better at the end of the season than the beginning), and though we asked the ambulance to come without the siren, it wailed and echoed toward us, scaring each of the assembled horses. After the ambulance it began to sleet a little as we moved back into the woods, and I had that winter fort feeling as the sleet fell (c-c-clickclickclick) on millions of leaves and branches overhead. I don't really know where I'm going here. Here's a photo of springtime hills and mountains taken last April. Doesn't it look a little like the crocheted ripples?
Sometimes when I'm riding out, I remember a little passage that I wrote in my journal the first time I went hunting, about 'things I learned'. I was probably about 14. I wrote, "sometimes it's okay to go galloping full-speed down a hill when there's another hill going up to catch you on the other side". It seems like there always is another hill in this part of the world.
PS: I don't know why my posts have seemed a little morose (and perhaps overly philosophical) lately. I'm hoping spring will bring the happy.