Mary PW Chin 穷孩子 E-mail:
Whereas my association with the deer was by chance encounters, my brushes with horses and mules were mostly planned rendezvous to be met rain, snow or shine. I recall feeling neither my fingers nor my toes during a cold dip at -6℃. Outside planned rendezvous, I had chance encounters, from the windows of British trains, with horses grazing in the fields. Their beauty somehow made me feel shy in a strangely dignifying way.
Twice weekly I rode, sometimes bare-back, without saddle — direct contact at the expense of higher risks. I brushed them with bare hands, without gloves. Here, I was finally convinced that the horse may panic anytime, switching from a slow walk to a gallop within split second -- that is my part to be on vigil and my skill to avert. ☞ more stories from Switzerland
This mountain range taught me contours, an episode I acknowledged in my thesis. Tom navigated mountains and waded waters ever-willingly. I adored watching him drink from the river. The quenching was at least as profound as the thirst. He was onced traumatised too; hyper-sensitive to men approaching his backside. ☞ more stories from Wales
Here is where I first rode. A gentleman joki used to take me out to the racing track on non-racing Saturdays. Once, a rider and his horse galloped pass from the opposite direction, in stunning balance and perfect tandem pace by pace — a spectacle I can never forget. ☞ more stories about my home country
Most of the time it was group riding round and round the school. Once, once we went into the woods, through thick branches and trees. I remember that unique height and angle by which my eyes caught theirs. From then on woods draw me in wherever they are. ☞ more stories from England