By: Elsa Smith

I squeeze my legs, hold on tight,
And grasp the reins with all my might.
So gracefully and silently we charge up the hill,
Leaves spinning like tornadoes or a thousand windmills.

[private]Aspen’s strength changes when I switch leads in mid air;
It seems like we’re the opening act at the County Fair.

As he slows down to a trot, I feel relief;
I see the last leg to our journey peak.
In my head I think of the races, “On your mark, get set – go!”
I squeeze my legs, I think he knows.

When we get back home, I take off his tack;
Feed him a carrot, welcome him back.
I walk him out and let him go;
Steam rises from him like a wild buffalo.

I look over my shoulder at him one more time;
And head to the house feeling successful and fine.[/private]