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Monday, February 05 2018

A crunch of paws in the sand. The gentle smash of leaves on the forest floor. Inhale. Exhale. Stillness. The fog is watching us. It is a blanket covering the pasture, choking out the sunrise. The sheep eat their hay, blissfully unaware. The forest is watching them. Us. It watches us.

Before the sheep leave the barnyard the dogs patrol the lower pasture. Like the fog they move through the forest on cat feet, quiet except for the snap of a stick, the crisp crunch of paws on cold sand.

The bells on their collars tinkle and clang as they run. Growling. They storm off into the mist. It swallows them. Minutes later they are spit back out. They emerge along the fence. Stiff. Insulted. Angry.

They push the fog back. Into the forest.

And the sheep eat. Blissfully unaware.

Posted by: forensicfarmgirl AT 11:49 am   |  Permalink   |  0 Comments  |  Email

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