It seems somewhat contradictory that the most inexperienced cavalier–me–is the one on horseback while the expert riders march alongside Hermès and I, but in truth, I do much more ride-along as my cousins hold the lead than I do actual riding.
And, I don’t really mind, for Hermès gives me the occasional jolt of surprise, trotting, cantering, reminding me that one holds on to an English saddle with strong thighs instead of grasping a. Non-existent horn for dear life, and whoaaaa, there, nelly, that was perhaps a bit too fun.
I think I should like to maybe learn to ride a horse, one I keep on my imaginary farm next to my goats and sheep and cows and chickens and pigs and tomatoes and spinach and sunflowers and leeks, just good enough to ride from point A to B with a measure of security, to learn another animal, another way of communicating.
But, for now, I am mostly at my cousins’ mercy, a prop on their horse, squeezed into their riding attire, trying on their lives for a minute.
I am thoroughly enjoying this time with Morgane and Alix, our lives at parallel crossroads, them off to university, to building their careers, me to another university of sorts, one of redirection and reimaginings, and I admire the frankness with which they forge into the metalsmith’s shop of life, aware of their own needs and desires and wants, looking to translate that into viability, sustainability.
Happy trails, dear cousins, as you will surely pave your way as only you know how, and wherever you end up, the world is lucky to have you.