One cool, misty morning, I rode through a forest. I had borrowed a horse, and we jiggled over the roots of trees on the narrow forest path. The horse put me up in the air, with a higher view than the one I usually had, and different sensations. I felt the earth through his body and the warmth and strength of his body with my legs. I was attentive to to the forest and to him – to the low-hanging branches that might scrape my face or knock me out of my seat and to his unexpected moves, though he seemed a steady character. Because he spent most of his life outdoors in the fields, he did not have the nervousness and anger of horses who stand all day confined to a stall, and he seemed happy to be with me. His name was Lancelot.
The Knight has been revised. It can be found here.