...March winds going to blow my blues all away." That optimistic line comes from an obscure Carter Family song from the 1930's. This time of the year it is good to live by such optimistic lines. Skys are the color of lead--clouds the color of gun smoke, with the woods dead but for blood colored holly berries.
The only thing that seems absolutely reliable is the mud. In winter it is there for long stretches of time as if to mock the ancient text--to show that it is not always ashes to ashes and dust to dust but that often it is dust to mud. The people who lived here long before the English came to my horse lot did not view Hell as a place of fire. Their concept of Hell was a great swamp flled with obstruction and briars.
December is a great swamp filled with obstruction and briars.
But it will not be December forever. Soon I will be able to ride hard again.
Horses are ok to get you from point A to point B. But their real virtue lies in their ability to get you out of December.
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