Horseback riding in Costa Rica

Maybe he warned me in Spanish.
I did not knowingly sign up
to ride a horse down to that
river, the one I could see by
looking straight down, past
herds of back and white cows
perched on narrow terraces
of trampled grass.
Not sure whether to close
my eyes and pray for salvation
from whatever evil I had done
to land here in this moment
on this saddle, or keep my
eyes open to see the view when
I fell off the cliff and died a tragic death.
I called to the guide
telling him I was afraid
and he laughed a big
Costa Rican laugh.
We made it to the river,
traversing cliffs, squeezing
through dense forest on
muddy narrow trails.
We celebrated swimming
below a raging waterfall
and eating fresh pineapple.
My horse and I led the
way back, prancing and
trotting, our guide laughing
that big Costa Rican laugh.