A Season's Bows

The Snow on the mountain bows its head to my step as I wander through their hills. Dew clings to the lambs ear that huddles next to the ground as if it were trying to cuddle with its despondent lover. Puddles deck the muddy ground and a fresh rain drips from the grasses swaying figures. A red gnarled feed trough lies in the pasture holding today's rain. My mint and grey shoes snap twigs and Reizen the petrified grasses. The hills are quiet and the clouds float on like impregnated elephants.