Palha
The Essence of Exquisite Beauty
My Palha
My sweet and gentle girl
My careful, cautious girl
My Prima Donna, flouncing girl!
Your brown, almond eyes – patiently watching; Your golden dapples
Your black and auburn mane and tail, gleaming; Your sculptured shape and form
Your movement – exquisite to watch.
My beautiful, beautiful girl
- A joy to behold,
To love and be loved in return.
To balance on the waves of your powerful, pulsing, swinging trot!
To float, delicately poised, moment by moment in the balance of your collected walk; Circles, spirals, shoulder-in, half-pass –
The concentration intense,
Every muscle and sinew, yours and mine, working in harmony, Feeling, acting, reacting
In the sublime, balletic dance.
What joy – what a privilege to know you -
To love you so deeply;
To be allowed to share in the symphony of your movement;
To look into your lovely, liquid eyes and know the truth of our connection
In the depth of my being;
To feel your warmth,
Our hearts, minds, spirits – our very lives entwined. A creature of such grace and beauty –
You fill our senses
And our souls.
Thank you, my beloved Palha.
A few days have passed now
And the brutal, acute, raw agony of Palha’s death Has subsided a little –the sharp edges of the pain slightly softened. The tears still come unbidden But other, gentler pictures are starting to emerge of the times we shared; the fun, the laughter, the achievements – and yes the struggles and the failures too – the lessons – initially me teaching you (after a fashion!), then you overtaking me – big time –after Georges and Wales.
And YOU became MY teacher and then Paul’s!
Here is a typical scene:
Riding the waves of that incredible, powerful, surging trot!
If I can just stay in balance.......
I hear Georges’ voice .....
Stay with her.
Look up. Look straight ahead. Go with her! Rise higher – Stay with her!
I’m flying with her!!
The exhilaration indescribable!
Slow down. Relax.
Walk on a loose rein.
Stretch down – big open strides –
My hips moving with hers....
Then, gradually, my seat deepens, Legs draped softly round the barrel of her ribs upper body proud and erect
I hear Georges’ voice still as we approach the corner, pick up the contact –slowly, slowly –a little inside leg round the bend; she softens at her poll, gives a little, bends a little –then straight up the long side –a little more leg, a little more feel on the reins, I feel her back coming up beneath my seat, her neck rounding, accepting the softest feel on the reins,
- on the weight of the reins only now
feather light contact
- self carriage – exquisite softness......
I ask for bend – inside leg, a touch on the inside rein,
- round onto the circle
– outside aids keeping balance
- weightless - floating
– her steps now collected – higher – shorter
– but oh, so much power!
– Like a spring.
In perfect harmony moment by moment
I must ride each and every step -
circles, spirals, serpentines, shoulder-in, half-pass ......
My Palha (2)
–
–
I’m in heaven!!
THEN!!!!!
BEEP BEEP
RIDER ERROR ALERT!
RIDER ERROR ALERT!!
No mistaking her body language!!
Flouncing steps!
PRIMA DONNA “HISSIE FIT”!!
What was it?
A moments loss of concentration ? – (on my part of course)
An inadvertent shift of weight
to the right seat bone?
– or was it the left?
– or outside leg fractionally too far back?
WHAT ARE YOU ASKING ME FOR?? She says
She offers half-pass?
-pirouette?
Is this what you want?
DO YOU EVEN KNOW WHAT YOU WANT??
I double over laughing, drop the reins, scratch her withers; Sorry Palha....
– a wee rest,
- she stretches down,
- regroup,
- pick up the reins, And off we go again – or not!!
Best friends regardless!
–
–
Palha First Encounters
Palha was born in Wales and we went to collect her when she was 3 months old.
First mee6ng with
and her mum in Wales
Barbara, Graham & Mark
Palha at 3 months
Palha and her mum
Palha
First Tentative Riding Exploits
The riding arena at Oakbank in Arran
Palha Drinking Water
We always had to BEWARE!
Ever since she was a wee foal, when Palha drank water, she "sooked" it in, her tongue protruding all the while, a little pink tip always visible. Then she allowed half of it sometimes copious amountsto dribble out again; And if you happened to be standing close by...... And if you happened to have your head at all loweredmaybe talking to her or to someone else, or if Palha happened to raise her head in that friendly way she had, and if she happened to look over your shoulder, just to be included in the conversation, don't you know.... Well, you can just imagine what would happen next ..... - as you felt the drips (or torrent) cascading down your neck!! Too late, you would laugh, or squeal, or cry, ⁃ depending or how much and how cold it was⁃ she's got me again! And we never learned!!
Palha & Friends
Palha with Charlie “The Sheriff” and Fiona
Palha and Charlie as youngsters with Fiona at Oakbank
Palha and Charlie were wont to snooze while ea6ng hay!
Palha, Tabitha and Tcha enjoying the sunshine in the copse at Scotston
Palha with Tabitha, the steady , dependable Matriarch
Relaxa6on 6me for Palha, Tcha and watchful Tabitha at Scotston
Palha with Hulk, so big and yet so gentle despite his previous experiences in life
Palha with Hulk, dear rescue Hulk In the field at Scotston
Palha and Tcha cavor6ng in the snow at their training school with Georges in Wales
The female conclave: Palha and Tabitha With liTle rescue Mist
Juniper came to stay ,but she and Palha did not hit it off so, although they shared a part of their lives together, there is no photo of them together.
Two divas need space!
Then there was…
More Lovely Memories
THE TOAST!
Bodywork sessions with Audrey - Equine touch -they're great. Palha loved them - and she loved Audrey.
In between the work, she could always manoeuvre Audrey into a position to scratch her bum.
Ellie, her breeder, used to do it when she was a foal and she never lost the habit she would reverse up to anyone who looked like a likely candidate and wait expectantly.
Anyway - back to THE TOAST.
Halfway through each session, Graham brought us a tray with tea and toast and marmalade.
Of course, Palha shared my toast - but she didn't like the marmalade!
[It never failed to amaze me how adept horses are at extricating and expelling things from their mouths that they don't like!]
So Palha would eat the toast and spit out the marmalade. Eventually, I asked Graham to make Palha her own slice of toast - just butter, thank you, was the order!
In
Palha in sha)s of light
With faithful companions both equine and human Tabitha,Barbara and Paul
front of her very own Dylan Thomas mural at Scotston
Palha’s last photo
To Palha - Thanks For Waiting.
I’ve come into my office to write. I don’t know why it feels right, Perhaps it’s because it’s a place of work... And you always liked work, didn’t you? Good work at least...
Work where the rider at least knew what they were doing. I never mastered it....
But you let me know when it was right and when it was not, You let me know when I was in balance and when I was not. You let me know when I was lost and when I was not. You taught me. You taught me.
I won’t lie Palha... I’m out of balance now... I am lost in my body. But I guess you taught me that nobody else
Can find that balance again but yourself....
And there are no short cuts.
There are no short cuts to walking in a straight line, There are no shortcuts to the perfect circle. There are no short cuts to the collected walk, There are no shortcuts to the even paced trot. No shortcuts to leg yielding, No shortcuts to rein-back, No shortcuts to shoulder in. No shortcuts to travers, No shortcuts to renvers, Half pass, flying changes, turns on the haunches... Or any of the rest... There are no shortcuts...
Just as there are no shortcuts to grief. Even from the spiritlands, You continue to teach me.
I saw you lying there, 6.30am, the last of the night-light. You were tired, I know now. You were ready to go, I know now. Thanks for waiting.
You ate your last bucket from sitting, But then fought yourself up for one final time, Standing, despite the pain, in all your beauty and balance. Thanks for fighting.
You nuzzled into mum and I, Looking for nuts, apples... One last wee picnic... you, me, mum, Tabs and dad... Again, thanks for waiting.
You grazed for one final time, You let me hug your neck one final time, You let me be with you one final time... Thanks for waiting.
You stood there quiet and gentle with mum This mum we’ve shared these past 26 years... You stood there quiet as I tried not to cry into Tabitha’s mane... Thank you for your quiet, thank you for your patience, Your patience as we humans try and navigate ourselves
Through our fear or the unknown, Our fear of loss, Our fear of grief, Thank you for your understanding, And for your astute sensitivity of human condition, (However bizarre it sometimes may seem.) And yes, let’s pinpoint our courage and grace. You had your spooks, god knows you did. You had your faffs, Your tizzes and tuts, You had your ‘madame moments’ Your fights or flights (and most usually flights...) And we would scoff at the flinches, the side steps and winches, The plastic bags, the bird in the bush, the this, that and whatever... But we also had our wobbles... And I’m sorry for the times I gave you my fear in the moment... Yet your trust and faith always remained.
Thank you.
Thank you for being gentle with our fears. Our fear of loss, Thanks for your patience, Your understanding, Thanks for waiting.
After you left us, I tried my best to stay strong. I was stronger with mum and dad. My own private moments would shake me
And then my memories would break me.
In the afternoon, hours after you were left us, I walked around the riding school. I thought of our later years together. My learning, your teaching.
Your teaching, my learning.
I stood in the school, with only your spirit now beside me, Still learning.
Learning about a grief I have never known.
I didn’t want to cry so I put my head to the work.
I imagined the circles, Sitting deep,
Legs melting like chocolate over the barrel, The position of my legs, The feeling of the hips, The diagonal, The poise of my head, Looking through your ears, The bend
The bend, the bend, the bend.
I remember the time I kept the bend. Basics for you, a moment of ballet for me. The weight of the hands, The contact... the contact...
I still think of the contact
Despite your final lesson in life of having to eventually let go of the reins.
I walked around the field, I recalled the canter track with mum, Weaving through cones as best I could...
I sat with you as your final resting place was prepared behind me. The grief was brutal, But I didn’t want to be anywhere else, From your final breath to your final resting place, I was glad to be there, no matter the pain. Thanks for waiting.
Before dinner that evening, Mum, Dad and I sat around the kitchen table
To reflect.
Mum lit a candle, asked us to close our eyes
And simply take a moment to remember you. I didn’t think I had many tears left in me. I was wrong.
Mum played a piece of music for your send off. Gabriel’s Oboe but played on Cello.
It broke me, It broke us all. But in the breaking came the binding As we held each others’ hands And allowed our grief to come out as it may. As the cellos soared, Memories came flooding back. Your steps around the school, Your grace, your poise, your absolute beauty. The way your coat shone golden in the light, The early mornings in the field shelter Sweeping up around you before school, The evenings in the later years waiting for hay. The summer days in the school.
Your showing me my flaws and hinting at my improvements, Your moments of beautiful steps like I had a clue what I was doing, Your huffs at my inadequacy, your stubbornness, your wanting for perfection... Because that’s what you were capable of.
You were capable of a grace only mastered by the masters.
I thought of your purple head collar, Your last moments with mum.
I thought of our days at Oakbank and our evenings at Scotston.
I thought of the harsh winters in your later years And the springs and summers of your youth.
I thought of it all, and I let the tears fall. The well of grief is filled by the waters of love and joy. Only now I realise how deep that well goes.
In the evening, I went out with mum and dad
To give the youngsters hay, and Tabs a bucket. It was here that I first heard your ghost. As I approached the barn door
I heard your deep, low grumbling hello That would greet us every evening upon approach.
I turned on the light and saw to see simply the space Where you once stood.
I think, forever more I will hear your voice in echo
Through that barn door. And I will learn to welcome it. You will teach me to welcome it in joyful acceptance,
Not shy from it in lonely fear. It will take time but I know I will learn. Thanks for continuing to teach me. Thanks for waiting.
I sat alone on the barn step
Watching Tabitha finish off her bucket. I listened to her eat.
So often, in moments of loss I sought you out To sit in in silence and listen to thoughts As they come.
I looked at the half eaten hay net, Hanging motionless where you would once stand. I could see you in ghost. But it was hollow.
I looked through you to the pallets stacked up against Bags of wood,
I looked through you to Dylan Thomas on the wall, To your mural of younger times, I looked through you to the dirt of the bricks, The dust on the mats,
The remains of hay scattered around where once your hooves would stand. I know in time your image will become full again. But on this night, In this stable, is no longer where you had to be. You were back, finally playing with the others.
In time I will finally be able to see you again, Tack you up again, Wash you down again after a lesson, Give you hay again,
Lead you out again, In time... In time. All things in time. But there are no shortcuts.
I sat there, empty of tears for the night, And let myself fall deep into my thoughts
Long enough for Tabitha to finish her bucket, Leave,
And then come back again a while later, Presumably thinking if the light was still on There may also be another bucket. No such luck for her...
Only the last two nuts in my pocket
From the picnic this morning.
Just like every journey, there are stages. And some stages may feel repeated...
Though, like every riding lesson, they are not repealed. They are new steps in a new moment
That you bring with you your learnings from before.
I felt alone in that barn.
I felt lost.
My eyes had run dry yet my gut still wrenched. I could no longer pinpoint my sadness
But could only listen to the thoughts as they came and went. Hear the fears, See the memoires. Remember you...
I knew you were there, waiting for my clarity, Like the feeling of synchronicity in riding the circle, You knew the feelings would realign. Thanks for waiting.
You have become such a huge part of my life That only in grief can I comprehend. Your presence beside me has shaped me immeasurably. You taught me more than I could possibly imagine knowing
About the grace of the horse, the precision of the rider,
The connection between and the art that is created. You taught me the beauty of the step
And the bonding of the spirit.
You taught me the dance that can be created
And the joining of souls.
In letting me be a part of your life you brought me closer To the magic connection between an animal and human,
And bound me with our mother in a way
Only music and memories can express.
You taught me.
You taught me.
And even in your leaving, you continue to teach me,
Yet, the gift of your teaching has shaped my adulthood
To the point of incomprehensible confusion without you. I came to this keyboard in tears searching for clarity.
My eyes have once again run dry yet I am still sick with grief. I’m exhausted.
But there are no shortcuts.
I know.
As my heart builds up a new skin to its own deepest memories, And the hole you have left is refilled with the soil of new present moment and choice, I will see things anew, I know.
Like the stillness once found on your back, My heart will find a calm stillness once more. I will take it one step at a time, like you taught me. I will ride the circle one step at a time. I will find the bend, and I will lose it again, And find it, and lose it, And find it
And lose it....
And find it again,
And I will think of your steps every step of the way. Even those that walk the closest beside us
Must eventually leave us to walk on alone, And we must let go and look forward
With the teachings, love, joys and pains
Brought us this far.
It’s the hardest lesson of all to learn,
Yet a lesson nonetheless.
Thank you for everything you taught me.
You were ready to go, I know that now. And it was time for us to let you go. Go be with Tcha. Go be with Charlie. Go be with Polo, Rusa, Feva, Silver
And all the rest.
Go and walk, trot, canter and gallop
With lightness in your hooves, Grace, poise, and beauty. Go graze, and be at home.
It was time. I know that know. Thanks for everything you taught me. Thanks for your patience. Thanks for waiting.
Your novice student, Paul
