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If you rode into my heart you’d find a mess: love and friendship, grief and frustrated longings, faith and hope and half-dreamed dreams. But slow to a walk and let your horse graze there in the clover, and you can catch glimpses of blue skies through the thick stand of Aspen.

Gallop down the path on the quiet packed deadfall of so many falls and winters, and breathe in the not-unpleasant smell of decay rising. Feel your mount gathering to jump over the logs and other obstacles meant to keep you out. But keep going

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and eventually you’ll come to a dense hedge growing along a wide wall.

Let your horse guide you; trust him to find the way and we just might meet there in the center of me, that is, if I can find my way.