Buttery light filtered through the heavy canopy, the wind raked it's fingers through  the bows of the trees, whispering secrets, making promises to the green leaves. Subduing their fears, their objections with a 'shhh, shh'. Till finally one let go, the brave little leaf jumped on the back of the tempting gusts and rode them down, down, down. Twisting and bucking, leaving a galaxy of swirling dust particles in it's wake. The callow little leaf was caressed by the ever moving water. I let my eyes track it till the stream sucked it over a waterfall and out of site.  I rolled the weight of my head to the back of my neck letting my hair fall over my shoulders. The sun felt warm and comfortable on the hollow of my throat, I settled back a little more my elbows grinding into the moss. I closed my eyes and sighed. I had walked down to the creek with Jessy to gossip about life and let myself fall easily into mindless chatter. I was having no such luck. As I watched my pulse behind closed lids, my mind was anything but clear. It was muddled with Gatsby's image.

The day before my Dad and I took him up to the horse trailer, I walked in and he followed with no pressure. He quickly hopped out, but willing returned. It was a start, but of course not good enough. No, I have to find a way to get him to haul like a true gentleman.

I quickly assessed his behavior lately, the bucking, and romping. It was unusual for him. I can only assume he's bored. I pulled the feed sack in his pen today and he simply flipped his forelock in to his eyes with a snort as if to say "Oh, this old song and dance."

Jessy loaned me her Clinton Anderson book, I plan on reading it and using it to my advantage. But to be honest, I feel like the brave little leaf. I'm riding this wind in a downward spiral, making the descent beautiful and graceful, but when we hit that water and it is out of my control, will he be ready? Will that dance down burn in someones eyes like the sun on a puddle? Will it be something they can't bear to look away from? What if I fail? If a leaf lets go of the tree, will it always find it way to the ground, or be left up in the air?

"It understood you just as far as you wanted to be understood, believed in you as you would like to believe in yourself, and assured you that it had precisely the impression of you that, at your best, you hoped to convey."
The Great Gatsby By F. Scott Fitzgerald- Chapter 3, on Gatsby.