Bodies wear out to remind us they are temporary, and force us to spend more thought on our spirits

Bodies wear out to remind us they are temporary, and force us to spend more thought on our spirits

You have no enemy until you make one.

There was a rhythm to the canter. Up, forward, down; up, forward, down. It soon became pleasant. The broad warm rump felt good beneath her. The pounding was diminished, cushioned by the horse's muscles and the springiness of his hindquarter joints . . . The ridden horse was a marvel, diminishing space.

Intuition is the voice of the spirit within you.

She enjoys rain for its wetness, winter for its cold, summer for its heat. She loves rainbows as much for fading as for their brilliance. It is easy for her, she opens her heart and accepts everything.

Wine could become a place rather than a beverage.