Bareback

Sam by Mariano Vivanco

'There is something about the outside of a horse that is good for the inside of a man.'
~Winston Churchill



Even though I live rurally, it been awhile since I had been riding. Last weekend however, an opportunity presented itself and I got back atop a horse. It was cold, almost too cold on my face, but straddling the back of the incredible brown and white mare I was riding, a flood of memories drifted through my mind.



When I was a kid, through my bedroom window, I could see the backyard of the house across the field behind our home. In that home lived only two, a dad and his 12 year old daughter. I did know at the time why their was no wife and mother in the picture but years later I found out she had died of breast cancer. The 12 year old girl, Charlotte and I were connected but not really friends. We didn't really spend any time together or talk much but we communicated through our bedroom windows by showing each other the books we were reading on many nights. This semi regular ritual led to many trades and loans of books and a few afternoons in her garage playing library (Not doctor...I know, I know...). Library sounds incredibly boring now, but at the time, pretending our books were library book the other had to 'check out' seemed like a cool way to spend a few hours.

Kaylan by Rick Day

My most vivid memories of Charlotte are of her in her backyard. Her backyard had no grass, it was just dirt and weeds. On the dirt, and amongst the weeds, Charlotte had set up jumps. There were almost 20 equestrian style jumps using picnic table benches and poles and tires just waiting for a horse to enter the arena. Problem was there was no horse. Charlotte's pain escape, besides her books, was becoming the horse and spending hours upon hours, day after day, with her hands up, together in front of her chest, trotting around her backyard, doing jump after jump until she exhausted herself. One day, without really thinking about it, after watching her out my window, I joined her. We did not speak a word that day, only the odd nod and snort. We took turns running the course, no winner, just me, temporarily entering Charlotte's fantasy world, until my mothers screech that supper was ready, jolted me from a gallop to a run.

Chad W by François Rousseau

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Bareback

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