When I was a young lass growing up in a wholly insignificant crevasse of southeastern South Dakota, I spent sunny summer days at the barn.

I reminisce about afternoons sitting in the cool, shaded grass while my horse grazed close by, swishing his tail at the flies. I sipped on a bubbly Sprite (or Mr. Pibb, depending on the day) and chatted with my instructor, a friend, or maybe my horse. I cannot imagine what I talked and giggled about when I was 8.

Sometimes, I wonder if my love for the horse started here. If all I have experienced and achieved with the horse has simply been part of a wonderful nostalgic quest back to these moments. That if you zoom out, you see a tiny version of me chasing those quiet, beautiful memories of subtle connectedness.
Whatever the reason, it's awfully fun.