You know Mom, I realized today as I was cresting the hill at Euston Meadow, that I had not been there in the winter since maybe 1998, and it is breathtaking.
It is a REAL meadow. With dead stalks of wildflowers, grasses and native trees. Sumac and Maples, Cedars, Spruce, graceful Willows and such ring the periphery of the one end. Given the time of year, and given the proclivity for coyotes in this urban area, and given the dream I remembered for the first time in ….em…a few years I think…I decided it best to stick to the meadow proper.
We tobogganed down that hill that second winter we had Mogan. She was a gangly year old colt of a dog, and it was an awful tobogganing experience. We just couldn’t get her to stop dragging us down the hill, she was just HUGE, and she thought it was just spectacular fun. Mogan David, as you insisted we name her, and her giant paws and big satellite dish ears hanging off her droopy eyed, dark-eyed innocent, floppy and graceful, all at once.
Ol’Rodger-The-Dodger took her along with him in our separation of course.
Mogan was always meant to be his though. It was I who insisted he have a dog, I knew she would be good medicine for his wounded and abused child he carried inside. She would protect him, and love him deeply and honestly, unconditionally, always.
Coming back here to this place I left behind all those years ago, I was back in that place where I laughed, and spent wonderful moments, and it finally felt right to return, and to acknowledge those happy times. Now I can bring away memories to layer onto this evolving landscape.