Frozen/magnificent

I keep thinking, I must be some kind of reincarnated Hun or Scyth or Mongol. I tend to the small herd of horses in all sorts of extreme weathers and conditions: mud, ice, arctic cold, tropical humidity. I ride in all conditions: rain, snow, wind. I ride outside the safety of rings and arenas: we gallop, ford streams, jump varied obstacles, up banks and down drops and over ditches. Some of my compatriots ride round and round and round the same ring, and blanch at the suggestion of going on a hoot out on the trails. The footing is uneven! There are bugs out there! It's dirty/dusty/muddy out there! My horse will take off on me!

Am I not a throwback to the nomads of yore? Is my horse not a magnificent specimen of horseflesh? I am outside everyday now, tending the herd and my own mare. I bitch about the heat, freezing cold, about ice and mud and snow. My skin is sun- and windburnt, constantly reddened. My lips are permanently chapped. My hands are roughened and calloused. But it is the antidote to my 9-5 desk jockey job. At least I know I'm not just stagnating away.