Spring and I, we don't get along.
This has been my theme song for years. We medievalists, we know from emo. In Latin, no less.
It is absolutely gorgeous out there. The air can make you drunk on the scents of citrus blossoms and chinaberry (deep and rather thick, a little like heliotrope) and Arabian jasmine. Wildflowers are blooming, the ocotillo are about to burst into flame, the cacti are getting ready to take over after the flowers start to fade.
I've been--well, see the song. The translation is at the bottom. I ran out of me for a while. Interestingly, and a little bit wonderfully, the Muse came back from an extended expedition to Outer Mongolia. Or the Oort Cloud. Somewhere both mythic and distant. We languish, but we write. This is a good thing.
The horses are shedding ferociously. Some days the grooming takes so long, the riding doesn't happen. This week was supposed to be a weeklong clinic, but that didn't happen, either. I admit to being relieved. I'm rather virulently allergic to people at the moment.
I did however keep my own lesson appointment for today. Pook and I both needed it. I've been drastically low on energy and have had to force through exhaustion to ride--frustrating because I want to do a lot of riding before the heat rises. But we do what we can.
( Patience rewarded, Grasshopper. )He was, throughout, Perfectly Behaved, but we were able to demonstrate to S. during unsaddling that he is not a tame lion. Pandora came to the gate behind him. He let out a peal and went all archy and dramatic, and she fluttered her nostrils at him and whispered sweet nothings. It can be a little disconcerting if you're not used to it--especially that aria he sings. He's a Heldentenor, of course.
There were no unseemly incidents, operatic volume aside. But it was educational.
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