It is an entity here, the fog.
It usually arrives early in the morning or in the late day. Today it was breakfast fog, covering me and the flock as we wandered down to the field. I always find the fog particularly comforting after a death - the whiteness is pure and covers my eyes from the real world, even if just for a morning.
The barnyard is so different without Lofa. It always takes some time to readjust the energy after one of the creatures moves on, and today I found myself stumbling over names - called Raggedy, "Lofa" then turning to see Stevie, I called him "Rags". The stall I used to put Lofa in for feeding now has Raggedy in it, and Professor can eat where Raggedy ate so he doesn't get head bashed by Wilbur. Stevie stands the same ground and loving old Rudy waits as patiently as ever for any hugs or food. And the pig? She is always there to make me happy with her grump grunts, pink smile and 'pig sit' for treats.
So the little black birds sat all lined up on a wire, waiting for the right moment to ascend into the white. I guess it's kind of like the barnyard up there on that wire, they have a morning routine too except they start out in a lovely little line, leaving out the bumping and rushing. They posed politely for me and sat still as I walked past them to be with my sheep.
I heard a smattering of duck squawks that made me turn only to see the little birds scatter, flying chaotically to different places.
