The temperatures rise and the sound of the cicada returns to the valley. I love to think of them deep in the earth with their glowing wings resting for their season. They fill the evening with their sound and climb with their large old Plymouth headlight eyes up the trees, wings quivering and vibrating. I walk through the trees at night with a flashlight to see the first arrivals and place my hand on the trunk of the Juniper as they walk over the top of my hand.

The heat seems to tighten everything, makes close quarters as we move inside to keep cool. I stand with my horse under the willow trees in the corner of the pasture and watch him, wanting to know his morning rhythms. He shifts legs every few minutes and sighs. I need to halter him for fly spraying. I make up a batch of spray with Aloe for his skin and some oils to persuade the flies to go elsewhere but he is skittish at new things and it takes some calming and attending for him to trust he is not going to be harmed.

Each day he develops more trust and assurance not just in us but also in himself. He can handle what he considers pressure much better and knows that he can find relief in giving to us and not against us as we work him. Yesterday he took off around the round pen and I just stood there until he was ready to face up. I offer him a chance to work more if that is the direction he is going in and also a release so he can find ground. It seems so simple just back off and approach with awareness. He eventually takes the release and steps into me. It is still startling to feel that much strength, size and energy move so quickly around me, dust flying, mane flapping but I am fascinated with his horseness, who he is.