No one may ever take my words from me except for myself, who seems to be succeeding quite well at it.

I have not written how I normally would in quite some time. I have been out with the horses, doing homework, and exercising so much that I have actually neglected one of my favorite things to do- writing. Photography has also been neglected lately, as EOC's and Final Exams come up.

The concept of a blog is to share your day, summarized, but why must it be summarized? I think it is best to share moments in great detail... But I have begun to contradict my own opinions about things.

I think I have been so busy worrying about what to do with my horse that I have neglected seeing the moments for the little things, something that is very important to me as a writer and in general. I am extremely disappointed in myself and will be resuming by noticing and seeing of the little things at this instant.

Now that I have gotten that out...

The gravel crunched in under neath her worn, rubber soled shoes. Her finger's nerves were magnetized for the moment, as they always are when she is either nervous or cold. She wrung out her hands and tossed the halter upward with a flick of her wrist, landing on her shoulder. She sighed and closed her eyes in the frigid air, focusing to breathe in for five seconds, hold for five seconds, and breathe out for five seconds. Without knowing why, she had become aware of this nervous feeling deep down. Her steps paused for a moment as her chin turned upwards, allowing her inflamed blue eyes to look off into the distance at the clarity of the trees against a grey winter sky. The wind ripped at her face, and she only laughed at it as if it were a fool with no power. It would be foolish to assume the wind could bring on no force, as she knew that it could. As of right now it was only a slight threat, but more of a teaser of its destructiveness. Continuing on, the small bay mare lifted her face over the gate and slowly stepped forward. The wind fingered her forelock, letting the hairs dance like string unwinding from a sweater adorned with memories. Her eyes blinked slowly, as if she was afraid to close them but then again afraid to open them for fear that the girl just in front of her would have vanished as all good things do in dreams. The girl felt her rubber soles touch the softer surface of grass and soggy earth. A series of short, soft breaths escaped from the nostrils of the horse, as if it were a slight laughter of content at the slow steps of her human. The other two horses stood near. The fiery chestnut threw her head up, her long forelock falling over her ear and her eye. The blaze traveled down the face, finally resting its chase at the muzzle. Her eyes opened wide and ears pricked forward for a moment, head held high. The girl relaxed for a moment before fingering at the gate latch, and in response the fiery mare lowered her head and blew out. Yet another creature, that of an interesting expression being both soft and dominant, playful and timid, looked forward again. The small trio of a herd all awaited the coming member of strange features that were no longer noticed as a bother or difference. A hoof stomped in impatience, for the girl was taking her time with the two snaps of the gait. She smiled at the complaint, knowing that she too was impatient to see them, the exact reason she forced herself to go slower. The peculiar child liked to give herself tests of strength or stamina in the mind, just as a horse might give her. Finally the latches were undone and she slipped through the opening that she allowed herself. She closed the gait again, closing the obnoxious ringing snap around a piece of the fence. The first to step forward was the one who always seemed first to her, the one with the northern star painted on her forehead and the two fingertips of white on the bottom of her top lip. The mare who was at first afraid to come to her, but now met her at the gait. The mare who was happy to embrace the different member of the herd with the neck, because for some reason the tall bodied seemed to get comfort from such a thing. The mare who was happy to gallop if the girl was happy to gallop... And the mare who knew her girl was happy to do anything as long as the mare was happy. The girl lifted her fingertips in the greeting she always uses, a gesture of kindness and of respect, of option but plea. The mare reached her face forward and gently touched the tips of her fingers with the velvet of her muzzle, the usual reaction to the usual greeting. A smile spread across the eyes of both mare and girl, and with that the worlds of both were gone.

That's a piece that I would normally write. I don't always write about horses, in fact I prefer not to because... I don't know, I don't want to get tired of the plots I guess. I also enjoy writing stories that are more metaphoric and artistic and can relate to whatever the individual person wishes for them to.