An Hour in the Pasture
Imagine this: you are lying on your back in a field. To your left, the ground dips down to a small stream. You can hear it, babbling and splashing, as the horses paw and play in it. It's fairly high due to snowmelt; the little island in the middle is under water. If you want to cross, you'll have to cross one of the bridges. I like to cross the unfinished one. It's fairly easy, so long as there's no wind. If stay where you are though, you can feel the cold earth, for the winter grass hardly keeps you off the ground. A light breeze rustles the grass and plays with your hair, whipping it into odd contortions, momentarily blocking out the warmth of the sun on your face. You can hear the horses grazing, or if Titus is feeling naughty, they might be running from his bites. They thunder along the ground, and it rings out as their heavy hooves pound into it.
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