To Ride is to Live.
From the first and earliest memories, it has been horses.
Perhaps, it was an obsession started by riding with my mother (she actually has a picture of herself about six months preggo with me on the back of a horse).
Perhaps, I brought it forward with me from a previous life. Or previous lives. Perhaps, I viscerally remember riding my Buffalo horse on the hunt, or my War Pony in battle. Or my heavy cavalry mount complete with jousting pole and heavy armor. Or racing my beautiful Arabian across the heavy sands of the desert in a bid to win back Jerusalem with a bright scimitar swinging above my head. Or driving a team of horses in the chariot battles of Eire, or the race track of Egypt. Maybe it was with the Celts in England. Maybe it was when horses first came out of the Steppes of Russia, carrying warriors into battle for the very first time. Perhaps this connection and need stems from the very first time a human and a horse bonded in peace, in war, in that unique combination unlike any other.
All I know is that half my soul resides inside the form of a horse. I am truly complete astride.