The stars, the planets, the moon, all tell us things. I don't mean like whether you are thrifty or dreamy or match well with the person in your bed. They tell you direction -- where you're going, where you've been.
"Look where you are going."
The ground was soft dirt, loose and dry. Rocks, hoof prints. Grass spread under the fence on one edge, where a horse might like to grab some. Edges of jumps, sometimes too close. Barn cats near the fence. She told me to look where I was going, not at the ground.
"Look with your head, your shoulders, your hips."
So I tried to see with my whole body, creaking and cracking and panting (this didn't feel like exercise when I was ten) but it didn't happen tonight. It doesn't happen all at once, learning to see with your whole body.
"You're trying to lead him with just your fingers. Use your whole hand. Use your arm."
I've been trying with just the parts that don't hurt. They are few: fingers, eyes. Mind, sometimes. Restriction in anticipation of pain or breaking.
"Whatever you do with your body, the horse will also do."
So this is how I will move. Paired with one who mimics me.
Driving home, headed east, the moon was low, full, and russet. It reminded me of a moon when I was small. In the car, speeding through the night, it always felt like the moon was following us. One time it inched so close it took up half the urban sky.
Tonight, it felt closer some moments, more distant others, but the message was clear: go on.