Clusters of snow float around me in no hurry to reach the ground.
Lulu guards her hay, the sheep a bit more ravenous with the promise of winter.
I catch a clump of snow, the size of a quarter, on my black work glove and watch it melt. The crystals flash and spark as they dissolve. If I could hear it, it would be crackling like fireworks.
Zinnia romps joyfully, her thick skin made for winter, Fate ignores everything for the sheep, and the hens refuse to come out of the coop.
Zip struts in his black and white suit as if he commanded it all.