Snow fell by the many inches.
The quiet harbinger had arrived.
Early hours illuminated.
A muffled blanket of white.
Rumbling across the rural landscape a
low moaning cry severed the night.
A foghorn of grief cut though
the darkness.
The lonely moo of a
Hereford cow
echoed
off
the
hills.
Her unwavering despair hung on
the icy air.
Haunting in its
urgency.
Unnerving in its
frequency.
Brief moments of
nothingness.
She waited.
Bellowing an exhausting
vigil.
Harsh vistas.
Dark weighty clouds
slide across the mountain tops.
The chilling embrace of November with
dusty umber skies
hovered over leafless
barren trees.
A new season emerged.
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