Horse ride

The tickle of sweat,  the roughness, the scratch of the hair, the sway of the body, the excitement. The guilt. 

I look at Wendy with a dimpled grin, 2 front teeth dominant in a small round face, blond hair tied back in a pigtail. The grin is returned from a longer, finer face. Front teeth crooked, blond hair hanging loose. Mistaken sisters.

A beautiful morning, no wind, no noise, just the clop of horses hooves on the road.  No dust. Stilled by oil, 44-gallon drums drained off the moving tractor. A couple of layers, hard now. Still.

The pump shed, alone, peeling paint, perched above flood level, water for the house, quiet.

On up the road. No traffic. Crickets fall quiet in our shadow, to start again in the sunshine. A Fantail flits along the fence, leading us onwards.

The house glimpsed through dust-collecting trees. Chores waiting. Escaped.

We look down on the farm, the grass not as vibrant, fading with the sunshine, the heat, the dry. The stream flowing gently, smoothly, slowly towards Clendon Cove and salt. Tee trees for company as they march along the banks. Shading & cooling the water. Holding the banks in place. Eels lurking among the roots and watercress.

Ridgetop reached, Gordon's farm, stretches away, green, larger.  We turn our backs to it and head down onto ours. Onto the farm track, can relax now, slight lessening of adrenalin as exposure has lessened. 

Through the gate, onto the farm proper. A trot along the track to another gate. Kodak is good at gates; no prompting required; stands still as I reach low for the latch, then backs up slowly as I hold the gate. Wendy slips through, I follow. Again Kodak nicely nudges the gate closed with his chest. The latch, further now,  slips from my grasp, hanging onto Kodak's mane, body at maximum stretch. I just manage the latch. Gate closed. 

A race to the end of the Golden Gate paddock. I'm slower, afraid maybe?  Not as daring certainly!  Wendy alive, eyes sparkling, loving the thrill, the speed, the danger. 

Sun shining, warming skin, drying sweat.  We walk in companionable silence, enjoying the moment, allowing heart rates to settle.

Tummies empty are felt and heard. We head home towards breakfast. The horses know, their hooves lift higher, quicker. We retrace our steps, still no cars, the quiet drags on into the day. 

Passing the house, the converted hay barn. Grandpa, Mums father helped extend, adding a laundry and their bedroom. The boys "hut"  opposite the carport. 

We ride up into the farm yard near the house. The red Ferguson loitering, hidden from the weather in its shed. George's hut, poised close to the houseyard, the path and the gate. Passed Hokey, pulling at his chain, wanting to say hello,  on past Toss, watching from the shade of his kennel. 

Jumping off, we led the horses into their paddock, slipping the bridle from their ears and bits from their mouths, talking to them saying thank you for the ride. Free now, a roll on the grass. 

Entering the cool dimness of the grain shed, hanging up the bridals above the saddles, lonely & unused.  Have to learn to ride first. We find our clothing and the stashed carrots. Dressing with giggles, we offer the carrots to our friends. As they crunch them, we fondle them behind their ears. Breakfast calls.