Do you have those smells and sounds that just immediately bring you back to a place you love? Or maybe just the feel of something? You run your fingers across the surface and close your eyes and you're in that place, just for a moment.

For me, it's the smell of hoof conditioner being painted on and fresh wood shavings mounded in barn stalls. It's the snap my stirrups make when I run them quickly down the leather from the top of my saddle. The feel of braided leather on my reins, or the touch of the velvety soft skin on a horse's muzzle. I close my eyes and for a moment, I am teleported back to one of two places. I'm either back on my horse, standing outside of the arena gate waiting to compete, or I am back riding my horse through the tall grass on a summer's day.

My mother always says I came out of the womb riding a horse. She did her last horse show five months pregnant with me, jumping far too large of jumps on a horse that was far too spirited. My earliest memories are laying on a picnic blanket outside of the arena and watching my mom take lessons, waving at me every time she rode by. I have always lived on horse properties, in fact, I am sitting in the kitchen of our current home, listening to the horses walk around the field behind me. I have always ridden, beginning young with a couple of ponies, eventually acquiring more horses and continuing on through school until now. I have always given riding lessons to tiny children on rotten ponies in the summer months away from school. I have always, always been connected to horses.

There is something about them.

Not that generic "there's just something about them" that you use to describe your favorite cookies made by your grandma. A deeper something, much deeper.

I once read a quote by Ronald Reagan, something along the lines of, "I've always said, 'There is nothing better for the inside of a man than the outside of a horse.'"

My connection with these animals is so unique in comparison to that of any other connection I have to anything, and anyone else. The world can turn on me, it can unleash complete chaos and frustration, but it all disappears the instant I am greeted from across the field by my long-faced companion. Most of my cries have taken place in the quiet of my horse's stall, throwing my arms around him, while digging my face into his warm neck. He knows all my secrets. He has seen me at my best, dressed to the nines for a wedding. As well as my worst, bra-less, makeup-less and resembling a dumpster diver. He sees me, he knows my heart.

Sometimes, I feel as though riding is more natural than walking on my own two feet. I can ride after going months without sitting in the saddle, and it will feel like I never left. My legs will rest where they always have been, the reins seem to fall into my fingers and I can finally breathe deep. As I trot or canter across the arena, it seems as though time stands still. My hearing becomes selective, I only hear the rhythmic beat of hooves hitting the sand, and the breaths we take in unison. My vision becomes tunnel like. I only see what lies before me through the small space in between his ears. Defying gravity seems completely natural when we jump over stationary objects, the quick burst of breeze hitting your face as you sore across.

My heart is never safe from their big, liquid eyes. They always seem to stare right into my soul. They feel my deepest emotions before I even do. Their large bodies tower over me, pure strength and power, yet I am never frightened when I am in their presence. I can tell them all apart just from their individual neighs and sneezes. I would rather share in their silence than drown in the sounds of the hustle and bustle of cities any day.

There is something about them.

A connection, an undeniable connection.