Learning to Ride

From Marguerite Henry's Album of Horses, illustrated by Wesley Dennis.  The first horse I rode looked much like this one.

I remember my first time on a horse,

My mother watching from outside the ring

As I put my right foot in the stirrup

And hauled myself up,

Swinging my left leg over the animal

And slipping my left foot safely into the stirrup.

She was an old mare well used to children

Who had no idea about horse power.

She carried me around the ring,

Giving me time to learn to move with her easy gait.

My instructor told me to sit tall,

To roll with her moves,

To hold the reins in my right hand,

Rest my left hand on my thigh

But mostly to sit tall.

The horse is not a chair, not a couch.

You are a guest. Let Pegasus fly.

My mother watched

As I learned to trot and to canter,

As I sought the rhythm of this matriarch.

There would be no race, no finish line

In my time of riding horses.

Instead, I learned to sit properly

To read the gestures of a mother

Who has done it all before

And will get me home

Better versed in 

Knowing my place.

The title page of Marguerite William's Album of Horses, a treasured Christmas gift to my Mom from her parents.

My great-grandmother inscribed the book to my Mom from her parents at Christmas.  Mom was 11.