Down on the farm...

I guess with a name like Abstract Arboretum, I should mention something that happens on that tree covered hillside I call home.
This weekend was an interesting one. Saturday evening it had stopped raining long enough for us to go horseback riding. After three weeks of cold and rain, I was happy that my mare had not forgotten everything she's ever known, but not too happy to find that she was full of what we like to call piss and vinegar.
You see, once upon a time, I was a young, fit woman. I had great balance and strength and took great pleasure in being able to ride any horse that you put in front of me. Then I got pregnant. And gained weight. And lost muscle. And YEAH, it WAS 14 years ago, but I'm what you might call a maintainer. I've done a wonderful job of maintaining my overweight, out of shape status ever since the day my son was born. I'm consistent if nothing else. And I'm seriously considering sueing whatever toy manufacturer spread the lies about Weeble Wobbles. Because they DO fall down. Often.
So, anyway, we went on a ride around the country block. It was probably an hour (which seemed like eternity) between me having to try and keep track of my dog who is not supposed to go with us but snuck through the woods and appeared after we were long gone from the house and my horse who thought every daisy blowing in the breeze was a rabid monster out to get her. I think I may have suffered a heart-attack in my butthole at some point, but fear will often do that to you.