Communion
It is a language of movement, whispered between horse and rider—a rhythm of trust forged in silence, spoken not in words, but in the press of a knee, the shift of weight, the soft touch of a guiding hand. The horse listens, ears flicking toward the unseen, sensing the rider’s unspoken intent. And the rider, in return, yields to instinct, understanding that control is not command, but conversation.
In communion, there is no force, no struggle—only presence. It is in the steady cadence of hoofbeats against the earth, the rise and fall of breath in perfect sync. The reins are not chains but bridges, delicate threads that tie two souls together, teaching patience, rewarding surrender.
And in the quiet moments—the pause before the gallop, the stillness beneath an open sky—the distinction dissolves. Horse and rider are no longer separate beings, but one force, carried forward by trust, by motion, by a connection deeper than understanding.
Happenstance - Ma Belle's First Coffee
Communion
It is a language of movement, whispered between horse and rider—a rhythm of trust forged in silence, spoken not in words, but in the press of a knee, the shift of weight, the soft touch of a guiding hand. The horse listens, ears flicking toward the unseen, sensing the rider’s unspoken intent. And the rider, in return, yields to instinct, understanding that control is not command, but conversation.
In communion, there is no force, no struggle—only presence. It is in the steady cadence of hoofbeats against the earth, the rise and fall of breath in perfect sync. The reins are not chains but bridges, delicate threads that tie two souls together, teaching patience, rewarding surrender.
And in the quiet moments—the pause before the gallop, the stillness beneath an open sky—the distinction dissolves. Horse and rider are no longer separate beings, but one force, carried forward by trust, by motion, by a connection deeper than understanding.
Happenstance - Ma Belle's First Coffee