Wimbledon Riding Stables by Thursa

Wimbledon Riding Stables

I can hear the trees swaying in the soft summer breeze, Slashes of light seep through the leafy green underneath the clear blue sky. The wood is silent, apart from the occasional rustle as a bird takes flight off the emerald canopy.  A hum of a lawnmower can be distantly heard. Preparing the riding fields for the riders later on in the afternoon.

I can see the soft noses of horses venturing out of the musty dark of their stables.  Their gentle brown eyes look up, not flinching, steady. I see the pools of water reflect the light that filters through the gentle green watchers. Dragonflies flit over the sun drenched lakes and cream coloured butterflies settle on the reeds with their maroon tops. I gaze outside and see the horses galloping over the open fields. Their flanks shine. I remember cantering through the pastures outside the stable’s open doors, the wind billowing out my shirt. I was riding on my favourite pony, Twix. He was fast. I loved it. It was thrilling, adventurous, fast paced. We would ride along the side of the lakes. Flicking up water, turning over wet soil. 

I can smell the dew covered grass from outside the open doors. As sunlight streams in I breathe deeply. The smell of damp hay drifts in the morning air. Over the fields I can distantly smell the wild flowers, their scent carried by a gentle breeze.

I taste the dust as it mingles on my tongue, illuminated by the beams of light penetrating the air. The taste of lemonade fizzes on my awaiting tongue. After the riding is finished I remember drinking a glass of cool squash, which I had been long awaiting.

I feel drowsy, but happy. Calm and safe. At the end of the day, though tired. I remember to say goodbye to the horses and promise to come back soon.