I confess—I’m now a fair weather rider. Yesterday the sun broke through the fog about noon. I jumped out of my desk chair to look at Willa through the window. She grazed in the warming sun. I’d go ride her, but first I’d finish my rewrite of that chapter. Uh, huh, yeah ride.
The mountains and rocks of my chapter loomed up to block my way out of that valley of a rewrite. Those stumbling blocks corralled my thoughts. My fingers kept riding the keyboard at a plodding pace, not flying as usual. Would that plot road ever offer a smooth ride?
By 3:00 p.m. the temperature had climbed to 60 degrees on our electronic weather station. It’s mounted on the round corral fence—right out there in full sun. Willa stood dozing in the warmth. Just a write bit more, I told myself as I watched her, then go ride. Half an hour later I looked up from my desk to see the fog creeping back up the valley. I still hadn’t finished that rewrite. Tomorrow we’ll ride, I promised myself, while feeding Willa an apple with her alfalfa.
During the night the fog furled in even thicker—a very wet fog. By noon today it had lifted only as far as the river. For today, that seems as much as the fog will thin. The temperature stalled out at 37 degrees. While Willa, the horse who won’t go in the barn, probably doesn’t mind the temperature, I’m not sure I want to brave temps in the thirties to go ride—even with my down vest and Carhardt jacket. Looks like I’m not riding today.