
On Sunday afternoon we went to the park. We expected to find the river, but were instead surprised by a meadow.

To say I was overjoyed would be a total understatement.

The first time I saw a meadow I was riding a horse. It was early morning and I was at horse camp in Indiana. We rode through the woods and then came into the clearing. It was lit from the far side, dark green against the sun. I had fallen off my horse almost every day that week and didn't think anything good could happen. I was in eighth grade and wound tight as a coil. We stopped for a moment and stared at the field. I could not believe I was sitting on a horse in a meadow. It had been my dream for so long I could not move. He swished his tail and I blinked into the sun. I remember thinking then that I would never forget it. I haven't.

I don't know. Meadows are enchanted, I think.

People think I named the dog, but I didn't. Andy did.

Naturally, however, I eagerly confirmed the nomination. And she is aptly named.

We walked down the path toward the woods.

It felt like the warmest day of the summer so far.

At the edge of the meadow, where the trees began, there was a shady patch of mowed grass.

We sat in it for a while and watched hawks circle overhead.











Thank you, meadow.



