There was a rhythm to the canter. Up, forward, down; up, forward, down. It soon became pleasant. The broad warm rump felt good beneath her. The pounding was diminished, cushioned by the horse's muscles and the springiness of his hindquarter joints. . . The ridden horse was a marvel, diminishing space.
I don't differentiate much, except in degree, between people who believe in religion from those who believe in astrology, magic or the supernatural.