Meadow

The meadow. He remembered it. He remembered the pathways cut in loam, the foliage splayed where many had stepped. It was different then, covered beneath the thickened layer of snow. It was different, with the trees stripped of their leaves, and straps of bark pulled from their trunks. It was quiet, and still. The wind had faltered, and left; and beneath the moonlight the soft flakes were given their time to dance and sway without the force of gales to carry them across banks. No, they simply drifted, much like feathers. He took his steps tepidly, smooth and slow as though to avoid crackling the snow beneath him. Nicholas dare not molest the serenity of the wintry night with unnecessary noise. No, he simply wished to take in that tranquil moment. Something of a smile turned at his lip, feeling the delicate snow come to rest along his face, his eyelids, and nose. He turned his face heavenwards, and the movement caused a gentle cascade of snow to fall from his mane; it stirred the air, causing their sways to grow more erratic and forced. And yet, still graceful. Still artful. Still beautiful.


three shades of black is where i come from
SMOKY GRULLO / TERSK MUTT / LYOV X MAGDALENA