Staying Lightweight.

I’m a bit rattled this morning. The first thing that greeted me when I went out was the sight of an estimated fifty to seventy horses and riders on the rough pasture land behind my house. They had a pack of hounds with them. And then I was further treated to the spectacle of them galloping down the lane at the front of the house, sometimes two, sometime three abreast. (I was once told that horses shouldn’t be galloped on hard road surfaces, but what would I know?)

The sight and sound of a large body of people on horses stirs a race memory that is both noble and frightening in equal measure, since it depends whose side they’re on, but that isn’t the point these days. The point is that I despise the whole hunting-with-dogs tradition quite vehemently. I considered making a post about it, but decided that most of my reasons would be obvious enough to anyone who’s picked up my nature and sensibilities from this blog. It isn’t just the cruelty, it’s the whole, sickly, social class connotation that goes along with it. It’s the smart uniforms and the smugness.

I decided against the long rant, preferring instead to remain frivolous by recounting the following, utterly inconsequential, little fact.

For over a year now, my Flag Counter has been stuck on 47 of the 51 American state flags (including DC.) Today it went up to 48, and the new visitor is: Kansas. How appropriate; how very Dorothy and Dodo. Surely it’s time for Sarah to break out the gingham.