the ebb and flow of envy

there was a girl, on a horse, who had ridden through seven provinces--from Nova Scotia to Alberta--across the country. I expect she planned to make it eight and end up in Vancouver tossing pennies into the pacific.

the glimpse I caught of her from my bicycle, as the sunset glared across the prairie, manages to stay vivid and blurry at the same time. I remember the bulk of her horse, her tall boots against the saddle and tack. some green in her riding outfit, the curve of her helmet and thin dark hair that seemed to be in loose braids. the whole look of her and the fact of her transience was beautiful.

who was she? why was she doing this? I don't know a thing about her besides what I learned in that glimpse last summer. today I am jealous.

jealousy is a little vice of mine. it comes in at the oddest moments and starts badgering me into feeling sorry for myself, tempting me with so many imagined other-ways-things-might-be. but today I am framing a picture of this nameless girl on her horse, setting it here on this shelf, and trying to be glad that she paused there in the sunset, for me to glimpse.