Stopping to Smell the Ponies

Yesterday was the first proper spring day of the year, the first day where the sun had power enough that you could feel its warmth through your clothing. You could even shed the outer layers of that clothing if you were doing something to keep you warm — such as, say, riding a horse. And that’s what we did.

Pausing to nibble the very first bits of grass of the season.
Pitstop in order to nibble the very first bits of grass of the season.

There is no sensation that compares to sitting on an energetic, happy horse that wants to walk faster, see everything, smell everything, and eat everything. Horses don’t walk on the first spring day — they poing like excited weasels. Even 26-year-old arthritic draft horses like Logan. Poing, poing, poing.

Simple pleasures in life: The clear blue sky overhead, little grey Cassie pawing at the water in excitement, and Logan walking briskly ahead with not the slightest trace of a limp.

Little grey Cassie really likes the water. The water is awesome. Love the water.
Little grey Cassie really likes the water. The water is awesome. Love the water.

Yo!

What is this? Why a blog, and why now? After two years of paying for the domain name without using it, what changed? What noble missives will be shared with the news-hungry world at large?

Eh, not much. I need to get back into writing. A blog is a good exercise to do so. And I got to use that absolutely fantastic header picture, depicting my own Logan and his good buddy Cassie, greeting each other after, shock gasp, two whole days of separation.