What does the summer smell like?
It’s not so much the smell of the leather as that of the horses in the stable. The straw, the saddle, the brushes and currycombs, the hoof scraper, the halter. Mice and rats making their way back to their hiding places. Mostly along the stable wall.
And it smells of cigarette smoke, hoof grease, sweat and fresh cold water from the horse trough. And from the washing area. Where the horses are hosed down when it’s particularly hot in summer.
Outside on the way from the stable to the arena and the gallop track. Earth of varying consistency. You can hear a horse limping better on the country lane.
It’s harder. And there are small stones along the way. The grazed paddock along the lane is dry, hard and dusty. In spring there were still patches of grass.
The soft riding arena sand in the arena. No more clattering hooves. Instead, puffing horses. Their stomachs gurgle. The hooves are sinking into the light brown sand. As if someone had cleaned the earth of stones with a sieve. If you fall here, you fall softly. You can learn to fall down.
Dust swirls up. Other riders stop. Get off their horse. Trying to hold their own horse with one hand and catch my spirited stallion with the other. But as soon as they get close enough to the dangling reins, the horse bolts again. The long black mane flutters. The stallion runs back towards the stable. The rhythm of galloping hooves becomes quieter and quieter.
On the way on foot towards the stable, I meet a tractor. I spot the bay stallion in the last remaining patch of green. His head is stuck in the grass. His mane hangs down, covering the white star on his forehead. His saddle has slipped.
I sit down next to him in the grass. My trousers are already dirty from the fall. My riding boots are covered in light brown sand.
