palace of winds

Cloudcover. We’re walking back to the barn; for a moment I think I see lightning, but it turns out the far-off play of light, the glow blinking on and off, is a plane passing overhead, just beyond the solid spread of clouds.

We’ve just finished Friday Night Jumping. It’s Nemo and Everett, the two babies (coming six-year-olds, really, but babies enough). They have both been rockstars. We put up two four-stride outside lines (that is: a jump, meant to be followed by four canter strides, and another jump; we have one set down each long side of the arena, on the quarterline), and the flowerboxes on the diagonal. By the end we’ve raised the second jump in each line to a 2’6″ oxer — Everett’s first.

For the most part, he sails over the fences. His first handful of jumps are enormous — he feels like he’s clearing them by feet (which he probably is). The first few times we jumped (ever, not tonight) he had a tendency to bury himself at the base of each fence; he would suck back, grind to a virtual hault, then haul himself over. He’s figuring out now that jumping is fun, and that it’s much easier if you don’t stop before going.

The last line we do is lovely. He is still being kind of a shit in the arena, not wanting to go properly on the rail, wanting to plunge into the middle or toward the door — so I let him go a bit sideways around, butt swung in, until we turn to take the jumps. He accelerates on the turn, entirely game, excited, taking me to the fences. He offers to canter a stride before the crossrail (we’d been trotting into everything), pops over the oxer cute as can be. He is marvelous. I want to hold onto the feeling forever.