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Watching my daughters ride horses when we lived in Argentina is a fond memory.  Although many years have now passed, I recall their glee as the gaucho gave them permission to ride as much as they wanted, even while he was off doing other horseman chores.

Being raised in a city, I had little opportunity to ride horses as a child.  I am not sure how much Joyce did horse riding as a young person – perhaps a little.

But today, as I listened to the Celtic Thunder sing “Ride On”, my thoughts angled off in a different direction, not back to watching my daughters on horseback in las pampas argentinas.  The lyrics took my mind to other spheres.  To listen:  www.youtube.com/watchv=kik4xXftwE8&list=PL6661AB551A0522E2

Sure you ride the finest horse I’ve ever seen
Standing sixteen one or two, with eyes wild and green
You ride the horse so well, hands light to the touch
I could never go with you, no matter how I wanted to

Ride on, seeing you, I could never go with you
No matter how I wanted to
Ride on, seeing you, I could never go with you
No matter how I wanted to

When you ride into the night without a trace behind
Run your claw along my gut one last time
I turn to face an empty space where you used to lie
I look for the spark that lights the night
Through teardrops in your eye

Ride on, seeing you, I could never go with you
No matter how I wanted to
Ride on, seeing you, I could never go with you
No matter how I wanted to

Ride on, seeing you, I could never go with you
No matter how I wanted to
Ride on, seeing you, I could never go with you
No matter how I wanted to

I could never go with you
No matter how I wanted to
Oh, I could never go with you
No matter how I wanted to

The horse ride the Celtic Thunder sing about is not a pleasure ride.  It is a departure ride.  When combining the lyrics with the vocalist being a fellow, I picture a separation that was taking place.  A painful separation.  The fellow couldn’t go with the lady, “no matter how I wanted to.”  What is left is “empty space” and only the memory of once lying together.  The horse is formidable; it takes the lady unerringly to her destination.  There are no regrets; the lady rides deftly, with a light touch.

The most the fellow can do is say, “Ride on.  Seeing you, I can’t go with you even though I want to.”  Those who know my story will sense the implications.  Some day that “fine”, “indomitable” horse will run again; the lady and her man will be rejoined.  The wait will be over.   In the meantime, absence and anticipation are like inseparable twins.

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Comments are welcomed

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