Junior Writers
The ocean was calling him, taunting him even, and he
Beach Gallop
begged to respond. I let him stretch forward, struggling
Pony Tales
to post in the confines of my saddle, finally deciding
to sit his reaching trot. He pulled at the bit, asking
cont. from pg. 10
by Kristin Kenney
to run, but I held him to his sweeping trot for a while
I am not sure what hap-
longer. Finally I reined him to a stop and we stared out
pened in that room but it
into the sea, watching the churning northern California
must have been magical
Having the chance to escape the precision of water rush in and out. An iron gray sky dripped small
as when the door opened,
show jumping and do something I had formerly droplets of water onto the gritty tan sand as I sucked in
out stepped the most
only dreamed of doing, I was invited to ride along a deep, life-giving breath, and gripped the reins tighter.
amazing little angel, all
the beach north of Morro Bay, California. I was Sitting deep in the saddle, I then urged Rambler into
dressed in pink and hold-
excited, but also I was skeptical that even a wild a lope, which soon escalated into a gallop. He surged
ing a sparkly pink crop. I
gallop on the beach could compare to the complete forward, his hooves slapping the wet sand and flinging
tell you she floated across
thrill of soaring over oxers and through combina- chunks of it back into the sea.
the room to show me her
tions in the show ring. The roar of the surf urged us faster and I released
new duds and I just sat
On an overcast morning all too familiar to Cali- my grip on the reins, flinging them forward and clucking
transfixed with her excite-
fornia, I swung up into the sturdy Western saddle, to Rambler. He hit another gear, his stride lengthening
ment about her new sport
my feet automatically locking into the stirrups. The and his body stretching out while I simply leaned close
and love she has found.
thick leather seat was unfamiliar, as I was used to to his neck and let him run, reveling in his sheer power
Sitting there watching her
my forward-cut English jump saddle, but any rider and speed. His nostrils pulled in thick, salty breaths of
will make do with what they have, so I settled into
primp in the store mir-
sea air and forced them back out in time to his sweep-
the deep seat and grasped the worn reins.
ror I got a clear glimpse
ing stride. All I heard was the thunder of his hooves
The little bay gelding I rode, Rambler, stared over the packed sand, the rhythm of his breathing and
of the future for us. A
out at the horizon, the smell of sea salt filling his the constant and unchanging crash of the waves.
shared love...my love for
deep lungs. We began a slow trot as he strained his The Earth possesses certain rhythms that exist
her and her love for the
muscles, longing for the endless stretch of beach, through all of time and rarely change. Sometimes they
ponies she will one day
wanting to run. Ears pricked, his excitement al- fall into line and occur together, as one beat, rolling
have.
lowed him to scramble steadily through the deep on and on as one united tempo. Rambler’s hooves
Together we will take
sand, his hooves digging in for traction. Once we drilled into the sand just as the waves pounded their
that journey but for the
reached the firm sand near the shore, he leveled out, own beat into the shore, each accenting the other and
time being it was enough
his roving eyes never leaving the rolling surf, staring creating an individual, unique tempo of the Earth.
to take her hand, still in
transfixed at the pounding waves their spray crash- It is during these moments when one feels most alive,
all that pink stuff, and
ing up into the air and back down again. The wind and that gray morning with Rambler I felt purified
walk to the car to be on
played with his long, wild mane, tossing it here and and natural, part of nature and part of the Earth’s
our way to the stable so
there and never letting it go. rhythms. Sighing, we walked and headed back to civili-
she can show the ponies
zation, the roar of the waves fading into the background.
and horses.
After stripping off Rambler’s tack, I led him back
If you would like to contact
to the deep sand of the dunes, where he promptly sunk
to his knees and began rolling in the sand. He grunted
the Pony Tales author, please
and groaned, thoroughly enjoying his roll and throwing
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sand high into the air. He thrust out his front legs and
Please include “For Sandra”
heaved himself back up, shook his body violently while
in the subject line.
I gripped the lead rope and began leading him back to
the trailer. Suddenly, he stopped and turned back to the
ocean, his eyes locked on the grey expanse of the great
Pacific. He stood perfectly still and silent, only his wavy
mane and tail tossing in the stiff onshore breeze. If you would like to contact our
I stood there with him and watched one of the only featured “Young Writer”,
places on Earth that no man could tame. He must please email califshowbiz@aol.com.
have felt the same innate affinity with the wild ocean as Please include “For Kristin” in the
I did. An ocean that has remained exactly the same subject line.
since the beginning of the world. He stared for some
time, watching the endless rush and suck of the tides, If you are under 18 and would
before finally turning his head and following me back like to submit you’re work for
to civilization, to domesticity.
consideration, please email us at
He and I knew that one can never escape the rigors
califshowbiz@aol.com and include
of life or civilization, but we can, if only for a short
“Junior Writer Submission” in the
time, trade those rigors and worries for a purifying,
subject line. Please also include 1 to
wild run along a rough stretch of coastline. It is an
2 photographs if possible.
experience neither I, nor he, will forget for a long, long
while.

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