Momentary Blindness

Flakes of dust begin to layer atop my keyboard as I type. The penetrative aroma is untraceable to a single element, yet distinguishable and common. My attention wavers between the hollow clunking of hooves on pavement, and the crunching of tires along intermittent patches of solid ice. As the door opens, what feels like a gust of wind sweeps the baby hairs that frame my face that tickle my forehead and cheekbones. In that same motion, cold air creeps its way against the current and kisses every patch of bare skin on my body. Finally after what felt like minutes, the door is closed. What took them so long? Someone begins to sweep the aisle way outside the door. The sound is muffled, but I can still hear the slight scraping of straw across the concrete slab that seems to clear in rhythm. My mouth becomes dry, and I notice a very subtle grit in the notches of my teeth like sand at a beach. But this is definitely not sand. I assume a lesson has started as the repetitive sounds of hooves have muted and transitioned into people talking. I can faintly hear the instructions and critiques of my coach, yet can feel the power and depth of her words in my chest. The volume sharply rises on her dampened commentary. Uh oh, that doesn’t seem good. Before I become absorbed in this newfound situation, my teammate knocks rapidly, though softly, on the window to the right of where I am sitting. My head jolts towards her direction to find her purely waving goodbye as she heads towards her car. After a swift wave back, I recenter myself. The volume had returned to a normal decibel within the arena as I filled my lungs with the crisp, dust ridden air. No matter where my attention wanders, I am continually distracted by the elements of climate; perhaps I need another coat.

(Van Lennep Riding Center, 2/1/19)