Meadow

hello hello whilst I work on that picture

She slowly squints her eyes open as the sun slips over the horizon and sparks the dew on blades of grass bent around the body of Cordula. Yawning, she knows her nap with brief, the beginning of dawn already pinking the sky when she’d shut her eyes for a second or seven. But it’s all she needs, as nimbly Cordula hoists herself onto her hooves, drops of dew dappling her dirty-white legs. Tossing her tail, she tatters more of the morning moisture that she next shakes off her spine, stretching out her serpentine neck to shimmy the length of her body.

In the pastel pink sunrise, the pallet of her roan coat is cotton candy and cherry blossom, white and red freckles across her frame, finding darker patches particularly on her face, ruddy cheeks, all bloody and blushing. Why yes, Cordula could be considered pretty, as the spring sun steams the last of the dew from the dips in her back and divots of her hips, and heralds to be a beautiful almost-summer day. Cordula wouldn’t quite deny it, but by herself what good was it to her? Sometimes she dreams of being maimed and maiming, and this morning she smiles at the idea, slinky and steady as she blinks boldly into the sun. The tweak of her lips is lost to another yawn, as she lulls at a walk through the wheaty strands of the meadow.