Sunday, March 7, 2021

Dudley’s Hill

Saturday March 6 2021

He stands on the hill, gazing, listening, appreciating, absorbing, thinking.

It’s like this at the end of every ride. From the crest of the hill, we ride down, until he pulls over and comes to a stop at this point - Dudley’s Hill - and I get off, and he stands there. We stand there together, Dudley gazing at his home below and the hills around us, and the mountains to the west. I look at the scenery, too, but mostly I stand there and gaze at him, such a hunk of a horse, such an intelligent horse, a kindred spirit who loves to stop and breathe and take it all in. It doesn’t matter if we ride 7 days in a row; he always stops here, and I get off, and we stand together and look. Sometimes we’ll stand there for five minutes, before he’s ready to follow me down the hill and back home.

It’s been two years since we’ve done that together. Two years where nothing fills that void, nothing takes his place in my heart.

He stands on his hill in a different form now, his spirit always looking down, always present, always remembered.