I fall off the horse. The ground comes at me. Years later I will often see the ground coming at me. My chiropractor calls it "being hit by the planet". A different way of looking at things.

I lie there, feeling sore and sorry. Mum knows I'm out riding. I've fallen right in front of our house but our balcony is so far up she wouldn't be looking out. Probably in the kitchen cooking as usual. She sweats and suffers in the Brisbane heat. How could she have known the Australian summer heat would burn a hole in the coldness of the Netherlands' psyche? Sweating over a hot stove, heart remembering the mother she left behind whom she would never see again.

The thrill of riding, of being independent, is pure anticipation and joy. It bubbles up from my spirit, overtaking everything normal. That's all I really live for. Horses turn up loose in "the Paddock" in front of my house, between Aragon Street and Moggill Road. I rush under the house for a bit of rope, no fear as I walk up to a getaway. I fix a makeshift bridle, hop up and feel like a conquering heroine.

Even a shetland gets this treatment, my feet almost touching the footpath; poor thing feels like it's buckling under my weight.

LifeStory © Hillie 1997
Border image © Hillie 2001

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