Reined In

From my assignment ”Reigned In”

Reined In

Hard in my mouth. Tearing. Taste of blood metal. I smell salt. My own spit-froth. I’m sweating. She’ll fall off if I don’t stop. I feel her knees through the leather, high up on the skirts. Bone thin, terrified she is. Pulling hard. I’m bleeding now. I don’t care. I want this. This now. The scrub flying like storm water beneath my hooves. Rocks disappear into sand the faster I go, my hooves do not touch them or the nopal. We are on the edge of the ravine, the canyon my mother fell into. I watched her fall, legs and eyes and mane and tail a knot of flashing grey and then there was nothing. And then there was a sound. It echoed, caroming from canyon wall to canyon wall, and then I looked up.

I sniff the hot air, not so hot going fast. She’s hitting me with the stick the man gave her I can’t feel it. I know she is by the shift in her weight on my back. One hand on the swell, her fingers caught in the reins. If I dipped my head she’d fly off. Into the ravine, like my mother. She’d not make much of a noise. She’s just a slip of a woman. She thought she could ride me.

He said - Do you want gentle? Or do you want Formula One? I know I look like nothing, my head in a bucket of mush, my bones sticking out, my unbrushed coat a mess of beige and dull. But I felt her eyes. They light up like a fire-stick. I stopped munching. Oh, so she thinks she can ride me? We’ll see about that. I lifted my head out of the bucket and see her. Stick thin. Hair like mine. My heart stopped. She’s mine, I think. I stay still while she clambers up. I don’t usually do that. At least she knows which side. I can hardly feel her, light as a bird. Lighter than the saddle. She doesn’t like it. Wants English. - We only do Western here, he said. - But I can’t feel him, she said. - You’ll feel him, he said.

I can smell the ranch. I can smell my corner in the corral. I can smell her fear. I want to stop but I can’t now, it’s too late. She’s going to fall. I want to go back, turn around, start again. I want to take her far away.  My legs won’t stop. My hooves pick out the flat spots without my help, they know every every fetlock crushing hole. I want to mess up. I tell my legs to stop but they don’t listen, they are on gallop-home but it’s the wrong home and they don’t know that. Blood and sweat and spit and froth and her dun gold hair in my eyes now, she’s holding my neck, breathing into my ears, short hot breaths. Her eyes are closed, she knows I’ll see for her, she knows I won’t let her fall.

© 2007 Sandra Jensen

Re: Reigned In

OMGZ
(oh my great zaadz)

 thoughts circle around in my head as my heart takes the lead

YES,
a mighty heartfelt yes, that is all I have for now. I have to catch my breath first -this ride was so marvelous. all I can do is feel, feel before the words, so grateful and…
pausing just to be with it
blessed
blessed be

K-

Re: Reigned In

I will have to resist the urge to compare this to my response to the assignment or I will never post it.

So much for the word blood giving me pause. This is wonderful. I felt like I was there, like I had been a horse my whole life, like I was listening to a comrade.

My favorite part you may wonder?

If I dipped my head she’d fly off. Into the ravine, like my mother. She’d not make much of a noise. She’s just a slip of a woman.

I am not very good at getting to the bottom of why things work for me just yet, but this did. Especially that last line. Thank you for posting this, and for coming up with such an inspiring assignment.
 

Re: Reigned In

He and she together, she want to feel him, he want to keep her, pain, anguish, love, longing… they work hard to reach… yes, what do they want to reach?

Sandra, you tough lady, pure iron under your silky gloves?! Ah, marvelous. What an inspiration!

Bowing with love,

Nono

Re: Reigned In

Synergiz, Loni, Nono.
This is the first piece of writing that I've stepped away from after it was written and felt good about it. ( now that's a finely crafted sentence…).

To then have your responses is icing on the cake, just delicious.

I wrote it after reading a bit of Ray Bradbury's Zen and the Art of Writing. He fired me up, pointed me here and got me to sit down and let Her speak.

Thank you, thank you, all of you, for bringing me here, for helping to create This space.

Much love,
Sandra

Re: Reigned In

Oh - I didn't mean this is the only piece I've walked away from and felt good about - but it's the first piece in months.

I must also give credit to Cormac McCarthy. I just finished The Road last night. Absolutely devastating. Something of his language crept in while I was writing. (I first saw the word “caromed”  in his No Country for Old Men.)

~ Sandra

Re: Reined In

Wow, Sandra, that was a breathtaking ride. To become a horse. What magic our imaginations be, and what a blessing that you love it. I hope that love grows to fill your heart so we may have more of these. The bond between horse and rider is a fierce one, almost a contest, but it is full of love and life.

Reigned In is many things, I see. Reined in by love and mutual respect.

Neigh Neigh (two nos equal a Yes)

Tom

Re: Reined In

Thanks Tom. This piece has gotten inside me, hooked itself there. I spent a couple of hours last night tossing and turning about writing more, imagining where it could go…  Would it in fact be possible to write an 'adult' story from inside the horse's p.o.v?

Love,
Sandra

Re: Reined In

This piece is so good, and so strong, that I feel that crazy quivery feeling I get inside me when I read something that blows me away. My goodness…   I read the first line, stopped, went back to the beginning and read it all out loud to myself. So much raw feeling in there.

sputter, sputter…..  I'm inspired and moved : )

deep bows,
crow

p.s.  I have just peeked at the “on commenting” instructions and find I've said nothing particularly specific or helpful here!  I'll do that, moreso, in the future. For now, very briefly, what i think worked here were short clean sentences–no excess–and the very effective appeal to the senses. The reader instantly tastes the moment. There is immediacy in the writing that tells me you were not sitting at a distance from any of this, in your mind, as your pen moved. You were right there, wind cooling your mane, probably barely able to see the paper or the movement of your pen. That closeness to the experience translates directly into the language you chose.

Re: Reined In

Crow.

Your comment means a huge amount to my writer self. Simply to know that this piece spoke to you, and in the way it did, is incredibly encouraging.

Don't take the On Commenting stuff too seriously - It's more there as a guideline for some of us who can't get beyond I don't like this/ I like this, ( I include myself in this group!); or for those of us who want to take a look at the personal/spiritual aspects of the writing process and comment accordingly.

I don't need words of high praise these days ( they are nice, but, like sugar or Vogue magazine I'm left kinda empty). What you said right off the bat  was absolutely the kind of comment that 'works' for me. Thank you.

And welcome! It's great to have you here.

~ Sandra

 

Reined In part 2

I decided to continue:

Re: Reined In part 2

Sandra:

Brava! You’ve kept the pace of your writing perfectly matched to that of your steed throughout. Now that you’ve stopped for a breather, where do you take it from here? There are lots of possibilities you’ve left yourself with, all of them intriguing. Why not take a chance on something unconventional? This is great stuff!

Love,
Burt

Re: Reined In part 2

Why not take a chance on something unconventional?

Sorry, Burt, I'm not going to let you tangle this carrot so far in front of me! More please, on this suggestion.. I can hear you thinking, I can…

(and thanks!)

~ Sandra

Re: Reined In part 2

Perhaps the question for me to ask is: what would conventional look like to you, Dear Burt?

Sandra

Re: Reined In part 2

Conventional would be horse explains how he/she misses wild heritage and chafes against captivity. Or how rider overcomes her fears and discovers her own wildness through relationship with horse. Unconventional can see them team up as serial killers, avenging the wrongs done to their respective species. I dunno, whatever your wicked little imagination can brew up :). Or we can see the story from a lot more points of view: the old woman, the old man, new characters. The possibilities are endless and as Martha Stewart sets so many teeth on edge saying, “It’s all good.”

Re: Reined In part 2

Thanks Burt. I changed the last line to tempt the muse. ( or is that the other way around???)

Re: Reined In - part 3

The woman finds the other stirrup, she’s in now. I dip my head to check the reins. She gives a little, just the way I like. She’s got me good, knees and heels and hands and backside. I knew she would. She’s all bone and sinew, curved into the saddle like a whisper. My tongue is thick. The corners of my mouth hurt, splitting open. Ribs bruising where she dug me. I hear a man’s shout and my heart skips but I don’t turn to look. I’m going fast now, faster than before. I head for the canyon. They think I only know one way but I’ve been down where no man can go. I’ve met the goat-sucker, the Chupacabra. He tried his evil but I was too quick. I’ve drunk at the river’s source. I’ve heard the woman who sings for the dead.

The wind is up, it’s going to storm. I’m breathing hard, heart thumping. I can’t tell which is mine and which is hers and then I feel it, a hummingbird pit pit pit reminding me to slow down. My hooves have forgotten the ground or its forgotten them. Stones have grown up and there’s spike rush hiding them. Something catches in my left hindhoof, pressing into the frog. Pain knifes up my shank, I kick back, try to shake it out but it’s lodged in deep. I’m still cantering but it’s all lopsided. She puts a hand on my neck, balancing herself. Then she presses harder, the soft of her palm stroking me down. I don’t want to stop, it’s too soon. They’ll find us. I tuck my ears backward and forward. I hear nothing but the thickening storm and the birds huddling in the pines ahead. – It’s okay, she says. – Stop. My eyes blur with pain and I slow to a limping half-trot and then falter just before we reach the forest. I wanted to get us inside where it’s dark, but I listen to her. I hang my head. Close my eyes. I’m done. Heaving. My sweat has wicked into the air and all I feel is hot. Water is a long way off. Storm water tastes like tin. It’ll have to do. Night will fall and with it the moon.  La Llorona will sing.

Re: Reined In - part 4

She sits there. I want her to get off and get into the forest where it’s safe but she’s not moving. I can’t think further than the smell of my bloodied mouth but I drop to one knee and then the other. – Hey, she says, but I’m on my knees and it hurts so I blow through my nose. If I roll now her leg will crush. I blow again, louder this time and she hears me, saying – Okay, Okay. She’s off, slipping like a newborn, backside thumping softly on the hard earth. I roll and she rolls with me, her head on my belly. We stay there a while. Her hair lifts in the wind, tickling my underside. She draws her knees up and they press into me. I want to stay but can’t. I shift but she stays where she is. Her body has softened. It presses down upon me like my mother’s breath. She’s asleep and I don’t want to wake her but I must. I shift again and she cries out. I turn my head, blink at her. – We have to get into the forest I say but she doesn’t hear. She reaches out one hand, fingers curled down and then uncurls them when I don’t draw back. - You can touch me, I say and she does, her butterfly fingers dancing on my nose. – You’re dry she says, - You’re bleeding. She looks up at the blackening sky. – We’d better get under cover. I blink and tell her that’s what I said but she’s already standing, unsteady. She got up too fast so she sits down again her head between her knees. I nudge her shoulder. She smells of sundried wheat and butter.

The skies unfold their arms and one drop falls on my nose. Then nothing. I know this rain, it comes on as quick as fire on dead sawgrass in a drought. I get up. I can’t put any weight on my hoof. She takes my reins and knots them over the swell and walks to the forest. I follow her and she turns, sees me limping. – Keep going I say, you’ll get wet and she already is because it’s bucketing just like I said it would. The clouds have herded like black mustang, clustering and tumbling and the forest is no darker than the mesa but the pines are thick and keep the rain off even though we are already soaked through.

I lick my nose but the bit is chafing so I stop. She comes to me, presses her forehead against mine. – Where have you taken me, she asks. She doesn’t wait for my answer, she’s around back, lifting my leg like she’s done it all her life, my shank resting on her thigh.
- There boy, she says, but I don’t like to be called boy so I nip her gently, just her hair which is falling down the length of her back. It tastes of burnt corn and I worry about the man coming.

She’s got her thumb in, trying to dig out the stone but it’s stuck hard so she uses a stick. It hurts and I pull away, I don’t mean to. My leg slips out of her hands and she cries out, I pull up quickly, I’ve stepped on her. She’s all hunched up, holding her shin, rocking forward and backwards and now I can’t put my hoof down at all, the stick is lodged in there with the mud along with the stone. The storm comes down hard. It’s so loud I fear it’s going to break the forest roof open and then there is a crack and now I’m sure we’re finished, the trees themselves are falling upon us. I hobble sideways until she’s covered and then there is light and nothing else, even when it stops. The forest is burned onto my eyes, trees standing hard like men. They raise their guns and aim. They don’t see her, not this time. I let them shoot at me instead and then it’s all white and I’m blind, falling, falling, my legs asunder, my tail catching in the stick arms poking out of the canyon wall.

Re: Reined In - part 4

That was utterly marvelous, Sandra, thank you! What can one say about writing that's so natural it's almost not there? Horses don't write, but I guess that one does. The feeling in this story is powerful, mammalian to its cells, and something else but I don't have the words for it. Earthy with pine nuts and horse sweat.

Even your metaphors are horsey.

Yes!

Tom