..Being thereÃÂ In the early hours of the morning, upon the hills an old cottage is perched; overlooking the valley as light house over looks a sea of blueness. This sea is of green though; Greenness dipped in white and bleached with frost. The valley that the old cottage overlooks is like a teacup. Rounded edges of the surrounding hills hollow at the center, filled to the brim with deep dark mist.
The sunrises to the rim of the tea-cup shaped valley, as does the lips of the farmer to his first cup-of-tea. Both are drained from there contents, the valley by the melting sunrays and the tea-cup by the thirst of the farmer.
The gentle hum of the milking shed harmonizes with the frustrated bellows of agitated cows in the distance. The many cows colored reddish-brown and white join together like a thousand piece puzzle merging to create a mass image of brown-white blur, the image of the puzzle almost resembling a finger-painting by a 5year child.
The sun gradually rises and the gentle rays that the sun casts begin to bring light to the surrounding terrain. The sunrays tease the fine blades of the fresh grass making the dewdrops upon them shimmer like freshly fallen tears. The once nippy air is now tinged with warmth an as you inhale you feel it clinging to your inner throat, leaving your mouth tingling.
Later in the morning the farmer sheds his skin of blue, dappled with a brown shower of mud. The overly large gumboots are carelessly tossed aside, with out a worry in the world. Being there is like having so much to do, so little time, you must know the feeling? But do you know also the feeling of absolute bliss? The feeling of freedom, and the feeling of...