The magic colors of morning. Pastels paint with wide strokes, the mountaintops in sunlit pink, the valley fog a grey soft sigh, the fresh snow a blistering cold purple hue, hints of baby blue in the east.
The Canada geese tuck beak under wing.
The frosting on cedars.
The squeak of snow underfoot.
Black cows shuffle through powdered snow snuffling their frozen breath skyward. Cattle pulled toward the magnet of the hay trailer, lined out across the fields. Summer’s work is loaded and ready to be shared.
Jarring thuds as flakes of hay tumble from hayracks and tractors rumblerumblerumble.
Whitetails fluttering, the rapid metronome of fleeing tails.
Sagebrush bends low from the weight, trees stand defeated, accepting, branches bend down waiting for the sun’s spring warmth to lift them up again.
Steam lifts off the creek, fading as the sun continues to rise.
Hillside layers of seven minute whiteness alternate with red and grey.
Finally, the glow is gone and shadows stretch towards the west. Sunshine. So ends the peaceful painting of a pastel world.
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Time for Q&A, post your questions in the comment section!
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Pretty nice post. I just stumbled upon your weblog and wanted Tips
To Potty Train, Kathy, say
that I’ve really enjoyed browsing your blog posts. After all I will
be subscribing to your rss feed and I hope you write again soon!
Kathy recently posted…Kathy
So many lovely images and sounds through your words. As a musician, I will
comment on one phrase that captured me: “Whitetails fluttering, the rapid metronome of fleeing tails.”
This is wonderful writing!
Thank you!
This is beautiful. Good job.
Beautiful!
You mentioned all the sounds that go with winter and feeding cattle. I liked the thud of the hay bales, small square ones, because the cows got to eat and we were one more bale closer to getting out of the cold. ha
Snow here Monday and has not got above 5 until this morning.Now 11 degrees.
Be safe. Sharon Drake from south central Kansas.
Lovely!
Thank You Lord.
Well said. Your words painted the pictures.