"Where are your words?" Stella asked me.
"I seem to be saving them." I replied.
"For what? Today is a day, tomorrow might not come, let's tell the stories now," the goat said.
"I am resting my word area. I need to refill my well. My wings are slightly bent. My paint spots are arranged on the wall and I don't feel compelled to rearrange them just yet," I said.
"We are aging," Stella said. "My escape routines feel heavy. The fence taunts me less and less, all I want seems to be on this side of the wood posts."
"I guess we are more content to sit still and gestate," I said.
"Like old hens on our eggs," Stella responded.
Her ears caught the wind and she sauntered off to nap.
