My Horse My Freedom.School walls stifle me. I need my freedom! Finally the bell rings. I rush home from school, homework relegated to the desk to be dealt with later. Shoes kicked towards the closet, as I pull off my shirt and jeans. Yesterday’s barn clothes await me, still smelling of horse. I hurry to the paddock, and call. My best friend, my horse, my freedom, trots over to me, and nuzzles my face to say hello, and then nuzzles my hands seeking a treat. He lowers his head so I can slip a halter in place. I groom him then exchange bridle for halter and slip onto his back. I feel his muscles quiver against my legs. He is as ready as I. He tosses his head, wanting to go. I smile as I give his neck a quick pat, “let’s go” I murmur.
He prances as I restrain him to a walk, knowing he needs to warm and stretch his muscles before we race the wind. Then finally we have walked enough, I loosen the reins and grab hold of a fistful of mane, and he lunges forward, twelve hundred pounds of adrenalin and muscle beneath me. I lean forward, his mane whips my face, my vision blurs, and I squint my eyes against the wind. His legs stretch out grabbing for the next section of road, and then the next. His hooves thud solidly against the packed dirt. With each play of muscles against my leg I feel my tensions leave my body. With each thud of his hoof my worries and frustrations are pounded into the ground. My horse freely gives me his body, his strength, to transport me away from the demands and fears of teen life. He is my freedom. I feel his sweat on my legs, his breathing is now audible, as he sucks in air, his neck carried low, his head extended, nostrils dilated and reddened, still he races. The fury of his pace is tiring even his great strength. I too, tire, as the tension that has built up all day is spent, pounded into the ground, and left far, far behind. His gallop slows to a canter, then he trots, and finally walks, flanks heaving, sweat running down his legs. He walks and I become aware of my surroundings, blue sky, puffy white clouds, birds chirping, the scent of sweaty horse and leather. That is such an intoxicating aroma. My energy returns, but now it is the energy of youth, not pent-up frustrations. Reaching forward I stroke the neck of my best friend. Our hearts are one, our bodies joined; this is where I belong, where I am whole and free. Where I have the freedom to be me. Kay, Massachusetts
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