full of beans

She's full o' beans, my Gran used to say, when Honey had been living out to pasture and not ridden for a long while. Her gait would easily move directly from stationary to a skittish trot, tail held high, body compacted like a barrel. I enjoyed the ride most when she was like that, responding to every skittish hint of breeze and stirring leaves.

I have been full o' beans too, for so long. It's been too long -- too much tension, painful memories kept inside. For me, the kickboxing, not endless days in pasture has done it.

It's time for me to rest, to endeavour to unwind, to try and smell the pastures.