It was already nearing dusk and the sky shifted slowly and luxuriously through its many shades; a stunning array of blues, each darker than the last.
An old owl perched on the branch of an ancient oak tree, its gnarled and sturdy branches offering a solid platform for the gnarled and sturdy talons of the wise owl. She assessed the mood of the forest. She moved her head this way and that, listening to the hustle and bustle as half the inhabitants of the forest settled to rest.
The other half rising and readying themselves for the long night ahead.
©CMA 2018
The Angry Farmer 