03-18-2017, 10:39 PM
Another year has gone by, blown right past him and spring is here once more. The sky is blue over his rusty colored head a the clouds draw puffy shapes against its endless sea. A few starlings swoop by, twirling about themselves and tracing the wind with patterns made purely for wings. Lovely birds these two were if Weir was asked. He especially liked their bright bellies against the gleaming jewel tones of deep eggplant and blues of their backs.
He missed the snow, holding its cold kiss in his grasp and directing it with his will but spring was nothing to be sad about. Weir could simply be happy in the fact that there were more animals scurrying around with the warmer weather, more things to study and observe. That included plants.
It is an utter delight that Whittaker is out in the meadow today. Little boys grow up, as they will do, and once they are men it is not necessarily natural that they would stick around the family unit. Weir held no qualms with his son’s freedoms. He was a man now in every right and Weir was proud at the one he had grown into. Raising him had been a task, a learning experience but not one he would easily part with.
That thought led to another, and for a moment Weir thought on Jerusalem. Whittaker’s mother had been a nice enough mare but a brief and fleeting romance. The roan stallion was elated when Whit had chosen to come stay with him in the Dale and they had not much seen the white woman after that. All for the best, things have a way of working themselves out. Under different circumstances he may have never met Eira and that would truly be heartache and sorrow.
“Whit!” the rusty red stallion called, bellowing quite loudly and cheerfully across the meadow. The friendly stallion always carried on as if no time had past, picking up right where they had left off the last time they saw each other. “Halloo and fine day it is. Oh and look, what a wonderful specimen you have found.” Weir bent his own head down to inspect the vine, his russet forelock draping over his amber colored eyes.
He missed the snow, holding its cold kiss in his grasp and directing it with his will but spring was nothing to be sad about. Weir could simply be happy in the fact that there were more animals scurrying around with the warmer weather, more things to study and observe. That included plants.
It is an utter delight that Whittaker is out in the meadow today. Little boys grow up, as they will do, and once they are men it is not necessarily natural that they would stick around the family unit. Weir held no qualms with his son’s freedoms. He was a man now in every right and Weir was proud at the one he had grown into. Raising him had been a task, a learning experience but not one he would easily part with.
That thought led to another, and for a moment Weir thought on Jerusalem. Whittaker’s mother had been a nice enough mare but a brief and fleeting romance. The roan stallion was elated when Whit had chosen to come stay with him in the Dale and they had not much seen the white woman after that. All for the best, things have a way of working themselves out. Under different circumstances he may have never met Eira and that would truly be heartache and sorrow.
“Whit!” the rusty red stallion called, bellowing quite loudly and cheerfully across the meadow. The friendly stallion always carried on as if no time had past, picking up right where they had left off the last time they saw each other. “Halloo and fine day it is. Oh and look, what a wonderful specimen you have found.” Weir bent his own head down to inspect the vine, his russet forelock draping over his amber colored eyes.
WEIR
higitus figitus migitus mum
prestidigitonium