Buttercups

I was feeling lazy tonight so instead of taking my usual Monday evening riding lesson, Cody and I went out on the trail.

It was a really nice evening for a ride since it wasn't too hot and the bugs were not bad.

We set off to do the loop (a scenic trail I ride that takes us through the grounds of New England Bio, across some hilly meadows, through Appleton Farms, through a couple of estates, through the polo field, along the Ipswich River, and around the schooling field) at 7:15. That gave us about an hour before the sun would set...possibly less since it was a cloudy evening.

At a casual pace, the loop takes about an hour and 45 minutes. At a moderatly bright pace the trail would take about an hour and 15 minutes. We did the loop in 45 minutes.

Needless to say, we held a very brisk pace. Only when we cleared the woody sections and entered the schooling field did we relax. When we got to the schooling field I let Cody linger to munch on the tall grass growing at the far end of the field.

The sun was hanging low in the sky and the sound of Cody munching eagerly on the sweet fragant grass mingled deliciously with chirping crickets and birds. It was so peaceful. After a long, harrowing day with the boys, this was just what I needed...Just where I wanted to be...In a country field, among wild lupine and buttercup flowers with my loyal stead, Cody.

I climbed down from Cody to pick some lupine but instead found myself plucking a buttercup and smiling at the tender memory it released.

As a girl, Eric (the boy next door) and I would walk through tall fields of grass, picking buttercups and holding them under each other's chins. We were looking to see if the flower cast a yellow shadow on each other's skin. If the flower cast a shadow that meant you liked butter. Of course, it always cast a shadow, but the game was a good excuse to get close to each other.

I also remembered spending afternoons laying in the grass with him, deeply immersed in the activity of looking for four leaf clovers and leprechans and making bracelets and rings out of clover flowers.

And the best memory I had tonight was when I heard the birds calling. The chirping was such that it sounded manufactured...and that jogged the memory of Eric's wake up calls to me. He would stand below my bedroom window, early on summer mornings and throw pebbles at my open window while chirping cheerfully to wake me up. I would sit up giddily, lean on the window sill and whisper to Eric that I would be out in a few minutes.

He was the boy next door.

He was my first kiss.

He is a distant memory from a different life.