Light in the forest

I pulled my chestnut mare to a halt as our guide indicated a tall craggy mountain straight off the pages of Dr Zeus.
“Execution Point,” he told us simply. In case he thought any confusion remained he continued, “Prisoners were marched up to the top,” he allowed for a well-practiced dramatic pause, “- before they were pushed off.”
The park still offers longer hacks up this mountain but it was not our destination today. My new friend was Canadian and had been telling me about her childhood on the family farm. This upbringing was evident through her casual attitude on the horse as one hand loosely gathered the reigns whilst the other rested on her thigh. My own horse-riding experience is limited to the odd hour during past holidays. The most recent was a trek amongst the mossy knolls and brooks on the Isle of Skye, Scotland.
This setting was worlds away. Even the sky belonged solely to this scene. It was a strong sweep of blue without a wisp of cloud to mar the saturated colour. Placing one hand on the saddle – the leather hot in the sun – I squinted skywards. Somehow the sky just felt bigger here.
We picked up to a canter again and I concentrated on the rhythm I was taught long ago, 1-2, 1-2, 1-2. We turned our horses and rode over the scrubby ground away from herds of wildebeest and towards woodland. Upon entering my rhythm became more natural as my mind became newly preoccupied with our setting. It took a moment to realise that the smell was authentic. The trees white bark peeled away in patches releasing a fragrant resin. Before, I had only ever smelt the scent of eucalyptus as a manufactured element in shampoo bottles. Now, the fragrance was a confirmation that this ethereal forest was not a fantasy.
The trees grew tall and close together which made the nature of the light change. As we cantered through the forest only amber shards of light penetrated the scene. Silence had fallen upon the group since beginning the canter but it now felt reverential. The horses re-traced footsteps as we rode down the well-trodden path as though down an aisle.
Emerging from the trees as they peeled away from the path our horses began to slow. I started bumping around in the saddle again and again realised my back ached and my helmet was too tight. Steering the horses away from Execution Point we rode away from the trees which had transformed the burnished sun into the amber light which had brought a Scottish sunrise over the equator.