Spent a good part of yesterday outside at a dressage schooling show. My God, how beautiful are the horses and riders, all cleaned up, all spiffy, all lovely. The sun was bright and I got some October tan. An 11-year-old girl rode a white pony in a dressage pattern and everyone around me said she was Olympic material. I have no idea but I do know that kids make it look so easy. They just ride. They don’t appear to worry about the angle of their feet or the placement of their legs. I was envious, as was another 11-year-old girl who bristled a bit listening to the lavish praises of her contemporary.
Met with my fellow adult students and even watched one of them compete. Wanted to watch and support another but would up holding a horse. I’ve never been so close to a braided mane and I got distracted by how perfect it was. Not too distracted; the horse is one of my instructor’s favorites and I didn’t want to be responsible for anything stupid.
When I got home, I wanted to put down my head and cry, like a little kid, because I want a pony.