I Wanted It All

There are mornings, who am I fooling, most of my mornings start in the same familiar way. Until one Sunday morning, I chose differently, and I found myself standing in the center of a covered arena, sand raked smooth, the most delightful spiral designs revealing themselves beneath my feet.

The Rincon Mountains frame the open end.

The vast blue sky with the sun rising and spreading its warmth.

My friend was somewhere to my right.

Twenty-five years of friendship, of dancing, of drifting off into our lives and remaining, and here we were, together on this particular morning, moving again.

I didn’t plan to be in the centerline.

And then the horses, already frisky, already having fun, turned to face me.
I, them.

A subtle bend in the air. A spark of energy.

They were coming.

Full on, galloping, kicking back legs, toward me, down the center of that long corridor of brownish red sand.

If they hit me, this is over.

I stayed put. I wanted to run, and my feet were rooted.
To step aside would have been so simple. To shrink down and cover my head. Every reasonable instinct said get out of their way.

Something moved in me.
I have been hungry for this moment my entire life.
I want to receive all of it.
Yes. And more and more, please.

Exhilarating.
They were so playful and not thinking.
Sensing.

In a world consumed by fear
and limits and control, these beautiful beings were giving me the greatest gift, and I wanted to tear it open and roll in it.

So fast.
One left. One right.
I felt the breeze of them on my skin, that warm displaced air, horse breath and motion, and pure uncontained aliveness tingling the hairs on my arms.
Palms open.
I wanted to scream.
I wanted to hide.
I held both, all of it, in my body at the same time.

When they passed, I walked to my friend and took her hand.

We didn’t speak. We knew.

Photo Credit: Jeanette Gibler - Tucson, Arizona 2026 Trot Tucson

Thank you to Sierra Ohrel - Journey Dance guide, expressive artist, for her invitation to journey dance with horses.