Moonlore - Publisher's Essay
On Snakes and Snails and Beloved Horse Tales
"There is something about the outside of a horse that is good for the inside of a woman."
~ Winston Churchill
He quivered beneath me, crouching low, eager to leap into full flight at the slightest cue. The sun blazed hot against my back, hot enough that my denim jeans threatened to scald my thighs. Snake twisted his head side to side, eyeballing me over his shoulder, wondering why I didn't move. Slowly, ever so slowly, I did. I had to inch my hand toward the saddle horn, knowing he'd be in a dead run the moment he sensed any motion, however tiny. If I wanted to remain with him, I had to have my hand on the horn before he launched. One stride later was too late. At last he got his wish and sprang into action, sending the timers scrambling if they were too close. No one but me was crazy enough to tangle with this powerhouse.
Who was he? My best friend, my barrel racing champion, my adored chestnut gelding. I was never more alive than when I was mounted on his back, his muscles powerful beneath me, his spirit invigorating mine. He loved to charge around those barrels at full speed, breaking the records in arena after arena. The showgrounds would come to a standstill when it was our turn. People loved to watch him, to cheer him on, to wonder at the courage he showed even when the footing was dangerous. Other competitors seemed like snails in comparison. My walls and my bank account bulged with his winnings.
But that wasn't the only part of life he loved. Match racing sent his adrenalin pumping. He never lost, and he wasn't humble about winning. After I finally got him stopped, he'd stand proud and snort a new challenge at the loser. He charged up hills too, leaving me behind if I wasn't hanging on tight, only to stop at the top for a joyous survey of all that lay below. When I was ready to move on, he was just as swift sliding on his haunches down to the valleys below. When I reined him in, he pranced every step of the way, always impatient to race through life once again.
Snake, so named for his limber agility turning the barrels at a dead run, taught me to savor life. He found fun rolling his eyes, snorting and spooking the horseshoers deciding if they could safely pick up a hoof, yet, if they dared, he stood quietly as they trimmed his feet. He held at bay the forty-year-old man who offered to clean his corral but meekly submitted to my five-year-old daughter. Fun was fun, but there was a time to be serious too. He was just as intense working cattle on a range, roping in an arena and chasing barrels, whipping into the turns without slowing down, dragging my stirrup in the sand while my knee was perilously close to the barrel's metal side.
Snake died a decade ago. His death was swift and dynamic. I was with him as he charged forward into his next life as intensely as he lived this one. He left behind wonderful memories and a creed to live by. Whatever your passion, race, race, race in its direction. Don't hesitate and don't wander because joy will be your reward. I have a hard time living up to his example. Sometimes my spirit is low. Sometimes the day is too gray. On those days, I know I need to seek his memory, to reach toward him like I always did. He is the cloud wafting across the sky, the inner voice that whispers to me in the dark, the spirit that hurries me on to greater deeds. He is me, the me I aspire to be.
I've never lived a day without horses in my backyard. Their presence is a constant reminder not to partake of a complicated life. Each of them has graced my life for a limited period of time, yet each of them lives as simply as those who came before. Those who live with me today have the same merriment, cares and worries as those who lived with me in childhood. They also share the same exhilaration at just being alive, free to romp, dashing about with zest, happily careening into each other, pausing only to lift their heads and snort into the wind.
Their spirit expresses the essence of who I am, who they taught me to be. Their presence gifts me with the ability to see beyond my fears and complaints into the delights and opportunities life offers. Is there more I can wish for?
By Loretta Kemsley
Publisher/President
Women Artists and Writers International
Writer, Editor and Editorial Coach
Loretta Kemsley's Personal Portfolio: Women's Writings
http://lores.lair.moondance.org/