The palm at the end of the mind, beyond the last thought, rises in the bronze distance. A gold feathered bird sings in the palm, without human meaning, without human feeling, a foreign song. You know then that it is not the reason that makes us happy or unhappy.
The bird sings. Its feathers shine. The palm stands on the edge of space. The wind moves slowly in the branches. The bird's fire-fangled feathers dangle down.

Saturday, December 22, 2007

teacher

The Clinician Magician
by Harold Roy Miller

I was one of those "know-it-all horse trainer" cynics
Who wasn’t about to waste my good money on show-off clinics.
But then the gait of my beloved Fox Trotter began to worsen
so in desperation I attended a gaited horse exposition in person.

Liz Graves was in town, a very well known clinician
and I’d heard she was something of a gaited horse training magician
So I inquired about it, then enrolled in her equine course
and loaded up and trailered over with my blue papered horse.

I knew my gaited riding skills left a lot to be desired
and If I did it for a living, I would sure as heck get fired.
But I was determined to see if my horse was worth his salt
or if there was a chance his choppy pace could be all my fault.

Some participants brought stallions but most had geldings or mares.
Ms. Graves first divided all the riders and horses into pairs.
Then she had us individually ride in circles around the ring.
I could see her watching us closely, analyzing every little thing.

As we rode she stressed the importance of good saddle fit,
the mechanics of seat position and using the correct bit.
She explained why she was totally against using gimmicks and weights
to get supposedly gaited horses to stay in their gaits.

As I circled the arena, it didn’t take too long
until she pointed out several things that I was doing wrong.
Then when she couldn’t take any more of my lack of style,
she asked me if I minded if she rode my horse a while.

It was one of those poetry-in-motion type of rides.
My horse’s head was collected and he started taking longer strides.
Liz sat straight in the saddle and put on a quite a display
of her brilliant equitation skills that I remember to this day.

The horse was like clay in her hands and she was like the potter.
In fact, I barely recognized my very own Fox Trotter.
He looked so smooth and graceful, just like he was gliding
and I realized I had so much to learn about gaited horse riding.

I don’t like humble pie and I hate to eat crow
but that day she showed me some things I really needed to know.
I was duly impressed and now I'm also one of those who raves
about the understanding and skill of this horse trainer, Ms. Liz Graves.

1 comment: