connected

I arrived at the stable, saddled up, and went to put my phone in my leg holster. Where was my phone? I had gone to work, then home, then the post office…nope, it's at home on the counter.

It felt weird. And unsafe. I ride in really remote areas, maybe only a few miles from civilization, but the only access would be helicopter or boat. Should I just change my plans and ride in the arena (ha, not gonna happen) or just up the road?

Nope. Life is too short. Some would decide otherwise, that it is too short to take the chance. I tend to go the other way: too short to not enjoy the moment.

So Major and I headed out into the forest. I couldn't turn on my GPS tracker per usual, we just started up the hill. At the top, the trail meanders. And a fluffy coyote crossed the path, then watched us warily. Instead of stopping and staring, and getting out my camera, we just rode slowly by. He watched us, not threatened as we moved along. Cool.

Closer to the lake, three deer grazed in a clearing. As we came around the bend, one startled and raised its head. We continued to ride by, they dropped even their wariness, and returned to munch the green grass.

At the lake, tiny birds hopped and twittered through bushes. Major ate grass. I looked at the lake, quickly rising, yet smooth and quiet under the blue sky, but there are no photos.

Later we startled an entire flock of turkeys. They ran, well, because they're turkeys. But I stopped and watched them go: smaller, almost toothless velociraptors, running through the green grass.

I don't use my phone when I ride, except to turn on the GPS and take the occasional photo. But I learned something this ride: having it seems to cause an impatience in me. Riding without it is not safe, but I'll work on evaluating my attention skills, being in the moment, connected to something larger.