After my morning routine of Morning Prayer (1928 BCP), walking the dog, drinking coffee and talking with spiritual singing gentlemen of the road, I went for a ride.
It was good to get out in the country and back in the saddle, though my horse disagreed at first. Easy, girl, we’re riding on, and that’s just the way it is.
Rodeo bronc over, we walked, trotted, cantered and galloped through the bucolic Mesquite groves of Olde Texas. Good thing I was wearing a sturdy Carharrt! Those thorns are big. But seriously, there was room enough to open up and I enjoyed that. Gallop.
After the ride I asked myself if I’d learned anything. Maybe a bit; sit deeper in the saddle, rely more on legs than rein, work with the rhythm of the horse, not against it, use the animal’s instinct to get back with the herd to your advantage. All that sort of thing; basic horsemanship skills, and there’s nothing wrong with that.
More importantly, it was exhilarating to ride out fast in comparatively untamed country and get away from everything. Just you and the horse. 
There’s a freedom in that.
Gun rights,