The air is ripe with mustard, sweet and sour.

Leaflet of grass…

Drenched in clove.

Green onion accosting the gravel road…

And, heaven’s above.

No trails to speak.

Just an agreeable, steered,  waif.

A four-legged creature…

Somewhat close to the ground.

Lumber some, oh the glory of!

In and out of sight…without a sound.

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