“If you shut your eyes and are a lucky one, you may see at times a shapeless pool of lovely pale colours suspended in the darkness; then if you squeeze your eyes tighter, the pool begins to take shape, and the colours become so vivid that with another squeeze they must go on fire.” - J.M. Barrie

 

 

           The softness woke me. Millions of wet petals falling from the sky. The soft down of winter's first snow. I snuggled under my comforter, a warm nest still sprinkled with the ends of a dream. The lowing, still gentle, would grow more insistent the longer I lingered.

Snow covered everything and the trees bowed toward the ground. Heavy under the weight of the snow, they seemed friendlier somehow. The thick wool in my blue boots would warm soon and I revelled in the thickness of the snow, the squeaky crunch as perfect prints followed me to the barn. The blue siding glistened in the pale pink dawn, the tangerine sun slipping over the hill, lighting up the pasture like diamonds.

I snapped the overhead light on and filled the old tin can with the sweet molasses grain. Rough, pink tongues pulled at the alfalfa hay in the trough. Tails twitched happily and soft contented moos warmed my ears. The heavy metal bucket rang with the first spurts of warm milk.