There's nothing quite like a satisfying roll after a nice ride. Of course one has to have a good ride first. We did today, and on New Year's Day before that. The riding is good around Brena's new home.
Her new field is great for rolling too, firm and grassy without any more of that annoying filthy mud.
Hardly a soul was out. The woods were silent. I felt as if Brena had carried me into a timeless void. But it was more than just stepping beyond time. We were beyond action, as if we'd walked onto a film set devoid of actors. The stage was set, the backdrop ready. But Brena and I were alone. The script was ours to make, and the other actors mine to imagine.
But what to imagine? A troop of elves? This is Tolkien's land after all. A carter or a shepherd with tales to tell? Such people travelled these trails just a few generations ago. Or a messenger carrying word from one enclave to another in a future with fewer people and no petrol? Sometimes it's easier to look ahead than behind.
I'm writing about a time in another country twenty years ago. There were horses and my hero has a good one. I'm fascinated by the creative process and it's a joy to watch it unfold. Sometimes a story does just slip out, an organic entity growing before my eyes. Then it's pure creativity, not something formulaic designed to sell. That suits me. I want to tell a tale, not sell things. I have a job to pay the bills - and give a few hours of blessed freedom.
Tomorrow I'll be back out again to free my mind and keep the shackles off my imagination.