May and June have spilled open their fruit. It is the season of throwing graduation caps in the air, and people saying, " you may kiss the bride!" My birthday closed my forty seventh year on the planet, and opened my forty eighth. My first film project in my 48th year is a documentary.

So much has happened. The town is sluggish with lack of work, the air smells faintly of salt water because salt is everywhere. 

Every Tuesday and Friday I drive an hour outside the city. I turn off one main country road to a smaller one, until finally I drive down a lane. A black Fresian gelding, and a black mini horse cavort together in a field. I drive past the stables, to a long line of horse trailers. There I tuck my small car, and finish the last sips of my coffee. Ahead of me, in the field, entirely on his lazy, lies Samwise. He is a Gypsy Vanner horse, the horse of a friend and while he is usually playful and frisky, he adores rolling in the dust and mud after a bath. Horses, I have learned, greatly enjoy being dirty.

I love the stables this time of day, when the morning is fresh and the doves coo and call to each other. Blueberry and Muffin, the golden eyed teenagery cats dart around, hunting me as I walk. Some horses are in stalls, but most are turned out. I still have yet to see anyone, though evidence of work is all around. Clean pavement glistens from its wash. Water pails are full.  I go to the tack room, choose my saddle, and get Grand's bridle from the wall.

Grand is one of the older lesson horses. Over thirty years old, he has a leadership streak that makes him more challening. He is used for adults, but even then one must be aware that he can be difficult. I walk to the field where he grazes and he looks up at me, accepting being caught with only the resistence of one pull or tug. We walk back to the barn where I begin the process of grooming him, picking out his feet, and tacking him up. 

Today we began to learn to jump. 

Grand and I have been studying dressage together. They tried me on two horses, one that I thought possibly was asleep throughout the lesson, the other simply decided she did not like me. Grand was another try, a tall gentleman who has serious considerations for his herd. I have seen him whinny and strain when the babies are brought in for the farrier. As I lead him to and from the stable, it is not uncommon for the other horses to run to greet him, whinnying. He is popular, and deeply social. The first time I rode him he resisted me. Now he often comes to me, trusting me enough to groom his face and the spot he likes best. brushed gently, right between his ears. He is excellent at dressage, and responsive once I urge him beyond a disintersted walk and he knows I am serious about trotting. He has also come to know me as I know that the left right hoof is sensivtive, that he sometimes stumbles on his left and that he prefers a strong handle on the bridle instead of leading with my legs.

He likes me. I think that won some esteem among the instructors. 

Today we are just stepping over logs stacked, but we move quickly from a walk to a trot and then he casually takes me into a canter. We are not supposed to canter yet, but I'm seated well on him and he goes for a bit before he minds Kayla who calls to him. I started lessons for my job, now I am riding for me. I like this powerful, opinionated fellow, a beautiful bay horse. I wonder who he worked with for so many years, before he was sold into retirement to give lessons. I do not think I could do this to my friend but perhaps I do not know. He is beloved by the instructors at the barn, though he gives the fewest lessons because he is so spirited. It is clear to us both that he loves to jump, though he's not allowed to fully jump any longer due to his age. No one has to tell me that I am learning quickly. 

My life is uncomfortable with growth right now. My son leaves soon, there will be travel all summer before I meet him in San Jose for college. I have accepted and will attend a low residency Writing for Film and Television MFA program. 

I just submitted my book to an agent friend, who, strange to say, I have known thirty years. He agreed he'd read my book.

Seattle rains as it does in June. Every evening I sojourn to the duckpond in Volunteer Park to visit the clutches of ducklings there. I write and clean and prepare for my documentary shoot. I apply for full time jobs so I can continue my riding habit and pay the remaining balance my scholarship for grad school does not cover. I daydream of eventing. I heal myself in the singular focus of human and horse. I emerge from my Fridays tired, rested, and whole, smelling of Grand and hay. 

I am shy and not always welcoming to what comes next. As I age, change is harder. I turn the dial on the things that I know will keep me healthy. Age, and hypothyrodism and a bad bout of COVID lead to a massive weight gain. Since January I have lost twenty pounds. By December I hope to lose twenty more. Riding is part of that, the vitamins are part of it. Transition and grief are not tipped out into wine glasses or coffee cups any longer (though I still enjoy small amounts of each) and I seek sleep, long, deep hours of sleep.

By September, I will know what happens next.

Until then, I will tell you what I know, here.