I've not ridden my horse as often, this summer, as I normally do. Sometimes Blue will stand at the spot in the pasture that's nearest to the house and look at me, and it makes me wonder if he thinks I don't love him any more.
Once temperatures get in the eighties, it's uncomfortably warm. After all, most of the places I ride are in full sun.
So morning is the time to ride. However, I have such an established morning routine, it gives me no time to ride before the sun is beating down with a vengeance.
Yesterday I told Cliff I was going to skip our morning walk and use that time to ride. I need the walk, and I miss it; but I'm tired of putting my horse at the bottom of my list of priorities. I was in need of seclusion, so I headed toward the Missouri River bottoms, my favorite haunt.
Cliff and I have been noticing lots of egrets lately, running with herds of cattle and horses. I spotted one on my way to the river road, but didn't think to take a picture, so I googled one from the Internet. I did remember, once I was home, to look up some information, and found out these are Cattle Egrets, and are relatively newcomers to this country. Recently we've see flocks consisting of dozens of the herons, interspersed among the cows; after reading about them on several websites, I now assume they were migrating toward some warmer climate.
That railroad worker was beside the track where Blue and I cross, spraying weeds. Upon seeing him ahead, I wondered how Blue would take to passing beside such an unusual sight and sound, but he wasn't bothered by it at all. Once across, I turned back and took this picture.
Every time I ride by this dead tree near the river, it catches my eye. It's just so white, in contrast to the grapevine-laden, living trees around it.
I seldom ride more than ninety minutes these days; my aging bones nag me if I'm on the horse too long. But even in that short length of time, I can feel myself rejuvenated; I'm thankful to have a good-natured horse to ride, and so many secluded places to ride.