Out at nine and home when the light goes.
You cross ridges, oak woods, and stone laid by monks before farmers took over the land. We keep petrol off these tracks, and a horse goes further into the country in a day than you will on foot.
These horses were chosen for calm, and for how quickly they forgive. You may never have ridden, and still be out all day.
At the creek you get down and they drink. Cold water, a warm animal against your leg, and the smell of a horse that has been working.
The route runs through ground we pulled out of farming. From the saddle the difference is plain: hedges grown out, water running where water wants to, and birdsong louder than the hooves.
You hand the reins over, and your horse goes straight back out to the sixteen hectares.