A Taste of Paradise

The setting sun painted the sky with an array of colors only making the night seem more perfect. As a light breeze began to blow a horse and rider stepped gently onto the stone dust track. The little Morgan, bowed her neck and set off at a lively trot, swishing her flaxen tail just to show her annoyance at being kept to such a slow gait.

After a few laps, the rider gave a cluck and touched her heels lightly to the mare's sides. Needing no more encouragement the mare jumped into a canter. Her head still arched, back rounded, she was a sight to see. The sun lit up her golden chestnut coat as she floated around the small, half-mile, track. Her delicate ears flicked back only a couple time, seeming to ask when the real fun would begin, before perking them up. To anyone who may be watching her and the rider the joy between them was obvious.

Finally, the rider brought the little mare to a stop. What the rider did next was quite unusual for any firm English rider, who lives by the rules of riding long and tall. The girl shortened her stirrups a couple holes, before leaning over her mount's glistening, golden neck, hands entwined in the mane.

Without any perceptible signal the mare leaped from her standstill position, and set off at a brisk gallop. Still under a hold, it was apparent the lively mare wanted to do more, but was only held back through the light touch of the rider's hands. It didn't take long to complete the first lap, and when the team passed the marker, the rider crouched closer to the pony's neck and breathed a whisper into the mare's small ears.

Lengthening her stride and quickening the beat of her already rapid hoof beats the mare took flight. One would never see a horse and rider team so in sync. It was as if every movement the pair made was only an extension of the other. They seemed to read one another like a book, and for that brief moment, they seemed to be one creature. They were in total bliss, complete paradise.

The rider in this instance is myself, the Morgan pony, my own. Her stable name was Pixie, and indeed she did behave as such, with the attitude of a queen. Her registered name, coincidentally, was Radiance Paradise. She was no Thoroughbred, far from one with her small size and delicate build. But, in that small delicate frame she imagined herself unbeatable and undeniable.

Together we had many such moments, moments that took my breath away. During these moments it was as if the world would stand still and it was just Pixie and I. It was as if we would melt together and nothing in the world could break us apart. She was perfect in almost every single way. She was my paradise.