Me upon my pony on my boat

Today I am riding Austin. Jerry and Jackie are far ahead with Stetson and Devo, and I can be alone in the saddle with my thoughts. To my left is the frothy Salmon River, green with spring runoff, and it rushes and fades as we pick our way along the trail, which is mossy and strewn with rocks. Off to my right is a ridge with sun shining near the bottom, and up higher clouds roiling in the treetops. My nose is filled with loam, and water, and pine. And that sour-sweet smell of springtime. I am wearing chaps, and because I am not a pure cowgirl, I am also wearing a down jacket instead of an oilskin. I have lined calfskin gloves, and a leather hat. There will be no steep hills to come down, and so I am at once at ease and also filled with perfect joy.
This horse is svelte and lovely and velvet muscles. He is purely beautiful and he plays and talks and is like a fast train to heaven if you ask him to take you there.
As we walk far behind our friends I sing to Austin, and his ears come back to hear me. It doesn't matter that I can't carry a tune in a bucket, or that I forget all the words, he listens anyway. For the first time I am with this creature, and we two are up to something. The president is not spouting stupidly about how immigrants should sing the national anthem in English, my taxes are not languishing in the lee of the big rock that says procrastination on it, and my good friend is not leaving the country. It is just me singing to Austin and us two in the big silent woods at the foot of Mount Hood on the first day of May, and there for a minute, maybe I felt my Gramma there too, humming along with us.