05/26/2025
đ When the body canât keep up, but the heart is still in the saddleâŚ
She no longer gallops across open fields, no longer soars over jumps like she once did. Her knees ache, her hands have lost the strength that once held the reins like a whisper of wind. But the passion â it hasnât faded. Quite the opposite.
Every morning, she walks slowly to the stable. No rush. Heâs there waiting â that same gaze, soft, deep, familiar. The horse lowers his head, touching her wrinkled hand as if to say: âI remember every step. And Iâve been waiting.â
She doesnât race anymore, doesnât fly with the wind. But every time her fingers brush through his mane â sheâs twenty again inside. And every wrinkle on her face holds a story of friendship, trust, and an unbreakable love for horses.
Because a true rider never ages out of who they are. They simply change pace.
And even when the saddle becomes a memory,
the stable remains home.
And the horse â a friend who never leaves. đ¤
