So I turn on the news, and find that my local CBS affiliate is (once again) covering a fire outbreak. Before I switch the station, they mention that the fire is in LA.
Griffith Park is on fire. I sit and watch in horror as flames engulf a beloved place of my childhood memories.
My parents used to take us up there on occasion. I remember the little train ride for the kids. I remember the pony ride - where else is a city kid gonna get the chance to ride a horse in LA? I think there was a petting zoo as well, but my memories are vague and I can't be sure. But the train ride and the ponies, I'm sure of.
I remember loving our trips to the park - the long car trips filled with anticipation (hey, anything longer than 5 minutes is a "long" car trip for a kid), waiting in line with other excited kids, the ponies carrying children along their rope-defined paths...
How much of all that was left, I don't know. I hadn't been there in ages - not since I was a kid. Memories were all I really had of the place. Vague, happy, childhood memories.
Encircled and engulfed in flames.
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