Seaside Ride

The sea is jewel tones and white caps in the wind. We arrive in Grand Turk, seven flat miles wide, apparently uneventful. But as we rumble across the short expanse of this flat island, the guide tells us how much damage Hurricane Ike did here, such that they are still recovering some 5 years later.


Horses by the Sea

Along the way, we see horses running wild.  This is one of the few dangers of wandering on the island alone, we’re told. Very little crime; no poisonous snakes or insects; but the risk of stumbling upon wild horses or donkeys… during the rut they fight and become dangerous.

But for our tour, the horses are not wild, are not fighting. They are docile, well-behaved, familiar with the routine. I don’t have to tell mine to follow the other horses; Jigs falls into line without my say so. After a little while I’m more comfortable, able to tell Jigs – within my limited experience – where to go, when to speed up, when to slow down. Along the beach, up hills and down. I am riding.

It is fun, exciting, exhilarating, terrifying. I am so glad to have had this experience – beautiful horses, Australian saddles, conches bleached white in the coral sand by the brilliant, blinding sunshine, then simply pads without stirrups for the ride in the surf, hanging on to a single loop of fabric, the reins left lax as instructed, the horses running wild and free and exuberant, bumping up against one another.

I love this experience, would not trade it for anything.

But whatever I have been chasing is not here. Riding will not make it appear, any more than anything else I might experience. It is gone; sliced away bit by bit. Do I miss it? I wonder. Do I miss missing it?


~ by lorakceel on May 4, 2011.

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