Dear Ones–I live in such gratitude for the past weeks of Indian Summer. Here is a poem for for all who ride, or dream of riding Wild!
“My bay had lightning stripes all over him and his mane was cloud. And when I breathed, my breath was lightning.”
— Black Elk to his horse
For my Horse Husband, Ranger:
My bay is like a river of blood, running, running through mountain veins, my veins.
Still, he is a red boulder, carved by something older than speed.
His heart is mustang, big and fierce, earthed and stolid.
He is meant to carry only himself. And, on the holiest of days, he carries me.
Blessings on this wide-open, sacred plain of hope and activism. May that which carries you through this world fill your heart with ultimate joy and stretch you far beyond even your wildest hopes. May you ride the Mustang!