From A Half Mile Back By J.M. Stevens Low gray clouds flit across the sky, swollen with moisture, full of energy, ready to dump their contents at the first opportunity. Mist hangs in the air, cool, sticky, closing down the sight lines, wrapping the world in a cloak of fine water droplets.
Sounds are muted, the world is quiet, or at least one little section of it.
Through all of this, he slowly approaches, gazing in all directions, seemingly at once, but in reality, taking it in with quick glances with eyes capable of seeing in two directions at the same time. Deciding to have a quick snack before bedding down, he leaves the safety and anonymity of the trees for the allure of the fresh green growth just visible out in the open. A creature of the edges, his hunger and desire for variety drives him onward, out into grasses of the pasture, away from the oaks and hickories. Cautious footsteps carry him onward, every sense alert to any possible danger, ears swiveling, nose flaring, seeking the scent of a predator. One, two, three steps and a stop, head up and questing.