Of riding in wind blowing 25mph and gusting 40mph. Getting pushed about in the saddle, Brena's heavy mane blowing across my hands.
Penetrating a grey veil drifting damply across a sodden landscape, outer clothes sparkling with a mist of miniscule droplets.
Slithering on muddy trails. Hooves leaving long streaks where they have slipped. Splashing through puddles.
When will it end?
Before every ride I remove Brena's muddy rug, brush her happily dry body, and try to clean the wet earth from her legs.
At the end of each afternoon ride I clean her, and return her to a welcome dry stable where water, hay and a bowl of feed await.
It's a simple but hard business, and rewarding after toil in an office.
But I long for sun and warmth.
I was made for bright spring mornings. Days where the sun warms my face and a gentle breeze slips through my hair. When the long grey months are banished to the folds of memory. Days of clear blue sky and waving green grass. Those are my days.