Kristine E. Brickey

Wrote this piece during MMWG this morning based on the phrases in the 'title' above and thought I would share. It's been suggested that I write a book based on the horses I've known in my life. Hmm...might just be the softer, kinder writing I need to work on as I fight my way through the current tougher, emotionally challenging memoir and non-fiction projects.  What do you think? Would you be interested in reading about my equine friends? Please let me know in the comments! Stick ponies, Red Cowboy Boots, & Happy Trails   Stick ponies were never my thing growing up, because I had Johnny, and Charlie, and Shadow and Taffy, and finally, my own, my very own horse, Buck. Without much energy I can recall perfectly the moment I first saw my sweet buckskin Quarter Horse. We’d gone to meet the other equine, a flashy 7/8ths Arab named Joe. Silvery sheen, black dappled flanks, and wide circle eyes flashing white…definitely not the best match for my ten year old self. But his ...

 This piece came from a prompt taken out of Barbara Kingsolver's “The Bean Trees.”            But what if you can’t find them? They were here somewhere. Words whispered inside my dream. Brushing my face, a breeze warming my skin, a tickle as hairs blew wispy across my neck. Resting against the leafy maple’s trunk, eyes closed, words had arrived, breathed in with the scent of blooming lilacs. Unnoticed for one breath; snapping synapses alert with the next.  Eyes open. Searching. Worrying the words had wafted away into sky blue vastness overhead.  Seeking. Almost frantic. Feeling the words slide further away the harder I searched. Like holding a plume of smoke in my hands. Impossible.            What if I couldn’t find them? A choice made. Deciding to be only in the moment. I settled again, closing my eyes, breathing in, opening myself to the floating words. Inviting them to return, acknowledging their ri...

The moon beckons to me where I lay sleeping. Thousands of miles between us, yet I feel its pull, drawing me out of bed this early morning hour. Where darkness should reign, moonlight rules. Unable to resist, I push up the window's covering, and kneel upon the couch to soak in the scene. Trees still bare with wintery hibernation, grass only recently greened, unfarrowed fields as far as my eyes can see; all are at the mercy of the full moon's colorization, bright yet somehow black and white.  My eyes fill with tears, and I do not brush them away as they stream down my cheeks, leaving evidence upon my cotton pajama top. The last weeks have me overwhelmed with love and joyful things, tears often appearing from seemingly nowhere, my voice quaking as my jaw quivers with emotion. I fear bringing words to the feelings, superstitiously awaiting the jinxing of my open and honest admission of happiness. I became Grandma. Held my daughter's daughter in my arms. Sending me back thirty p...

 It was the agreement we made. He was supposed to live forever, or at least as long as I did. But today, February 27, 2023 at 12:30 p.m. I had to let my sweet Nick go to greener pastures.  He was the best donkey, his presence here on my little farm all Robbie's idea to keep Snickers company. Those who know me well probably remember that I first met Nick the day my son died, that Robbie was supposed to meet me at Turning Pointe Donkey Rescue that day so we could meet Nick together. But Robbie never made it there, and then my world fell apart.  About a month later, I brought Nick home. He had been terribly abused, nearly starved to death when TPDR's then president found him tied to a post inside a burned out barn in Shipshewana. Physically, he was improved, but emotionally and mentally Nick was still broken, wary, afraid, and cautious.  Today, I laid in the barn with my ailing fifty plus year old friend saying good-bye. I remembered moments from our thirteen years toge...

Anyone else out there a New Amsterdam viewer? No? Guess the show isn't what matters so much as what happened while I watched the most recent episode. I woke early, an ache and discomfort in my neck and shoulders keeping me from falling back to sleep. Figured I would watch the dvr'd episode, one of the final in the final season...one of the best, in my opinion.  So I sat in the dark, television glowing, the only light in the deep dark of a January morning. A group of doctors on a spur of the moment guided hike up a mountain, resulting, of course, in a fall by the guide, life threatening. In the other plot thread, a doctor operates on a dear friend's only son, additionally hampered by life threatening radiation exposure. Life, or death. The hiking doctors must amputate the guide's foot to free her from the boulder pinning her down, in order to save her from certain death as a rock slide is imminent. The heart surgeon must stay to revive the boy's heart while the radia...

This morning the winds  have blown sections bare and left  drifting in others.  Visibility  last night, zero, this morning  crisp, clear untouched snow  A sliver of moon  watching from behind moody  clouds, hiding secrets.

"How was the Festival?" So many have asked since I returned from Lexington. Three full days of horses, liberty, learning, and awestriking performances inside Kentucky Horse Park's Covered Arena. It's impossible to answer, to fully explain what happened in such a small time away from home, surrounded by like minded people where horses and their needs take precedence.  How was the Festival?  Quite possibly, life changing. I've committed to showing Cinder at Liberty Fest 2023, not because I like showing, but because the decision will motivate my diligence in our at home Liberty work and baby step progression to my ultimate goal: riding Cinder at Liberty. Each time I ride, I focus on less rein and more inner/leg/body/mind communication and guidance. As we weave our way through autumn trails, colorful leaves cascading upon us, I imagine the rides that require no bridle. A dark blue neck rope hangs inside my trailer, awaiting use, but I imagine it's thick braided pr...