I sat astride a horse, my horse for the week, Jazz, in the shadowy indoor ring. Out the door I could see the paddocks, filled with horses in the distance, a meadow standing in between. I had come to this place, a camp for horse lovers, where you rode and took care of “your” horse. Right now it was lesson time, time to ride.

I held the reins loose in my hands and for a second glanced down at Jazz beneath me. Her coat was white with brown and light amber flecks, like a reversed snowfall. Sunlight hit her as we stood in the doorway with light flowing through the opening. Around the ring, there were six horses in all, different colors and sizes, at a halt, waiting their turn. I could feel Jazz, energy flowing through her, the want to run free. I could hardly contain her as she blew out of her nose impatiently and tried to take a step forward. A pair of poles in a line stood, our task to trot over them.  I had done this many times before at the barn I normally rode at but here it was being treated as though a challenge.

The second I had found out I was in this riding group–group one–a wave of unhappiness had crashed over me. I was in the lowest riding group, with people who had never ridden before. Most of my friends from school who I had come to this camp with had been riding for five years. I had been riding for two. They were all good riders, who could jump and canter and here I was going over two poles at a trot. I hadn’t had a more boring lesson since the first time I rode. We were playing follow the leader at a walk and trotting one at a time down the long side!

My instructor called for me to take my turn over the poles. I asked Jazz to walk and instantly she responded. I could feel her wanting to move, wanting to run. As we turned the corner and the poles drew near, I tightened my reins a small bit. I whispered lightly to Jazz, telling her to trot. She obeyed trotting toward the poles. I felt her, waiting, hoping for me to ask her to go faster. I was feeling the same way, except I was hoping for the instructor to tell us to go up in speed. We had been slow too long. We needed to go!

As Jazz and I reached the first pole, I felt a change in our speed. All in an instant, the flecked steed beneath me was moving smoother, but faster, in a way I could not explain in the moment. The wind rushed by and I felt Jazz lift up. The oddest feeling swept through me, fear merged with a freedom sort of happiness, sharp and real. It kept my head straight and I pulled gently on reins in a few half-halts and steered Jazz towards to outside of the ring. Something told me to stop posting, to just sit back in the saddle. Jazz tried to veer inwards, around the second pole. I squeezed her with my inside leg to guide her towards the pole. We had our fun, I thought to Jazz as I pulled the reins a little bit harder.

As we turned the corner at the end of the long side she slowed it down to a trot, then finally a walk. I heard someone laughing, and turned my head slightly to look at the instructor. She was grinning and to the group she called out, ¨That is what a canter looks like!¨ I patted Jazz on the neck and loosed the reins a bit. We cantered! I thought, an unsuppressable joy spreading through me. Jazz had known, I had let her.

“Thank you,” I whispered to her, so quiet that I could not hear it myself. She flicked one of her ears back towards me, as though acknowledging the fact that I was there. I smiled faintly because of Jazz and pulled back on the reins to tell her to halt. As we stood there in front of the door with the wind murmuring by, the troubles of the world seemed to vanish. I had Jazz to get through these lessons with. I had hardly ever loved a horse more.