The Meadow

The dawn rose through the mist surrounded trees in pinks and purples. The low hung clouds which slowly moved westward, kept the west dark. Most of the pre-sunrise light had been blocked by those dark shadow laden clouds. Now, minutes before the sun broke over the horizon, the light was shifting through hanging tree limbs and cold mist. The colors were mixed and vibrant, dark grey sky over light pink and purple mist, shifting through green and black trees. The first ray of full sun pierced through it all, blinding, beautiful, brilliant, almost belligerent. The night flew off to the west with the wind and dark clouds. Glorious morning surrounded the glen.

Birds, singing in the bright morning flinted hither and thither around the small cottage. The hanging branches and twigs of the nearby willow, flicked the small yellow brown leaves off and into the slight breeze, where they gathered in disorganized bunches all over the rock strewn meadow which encircled the small cottage. The mists and jabbing sunlight sifted through the the half bare trees.shadows and beams of light chased each other through the forest and around the meadow. The cottage, roof low over the front porch, stayed dark. The shutters where closed, the thatched roof covered with leaves and small twigs. Around were long waving grasses and late fall wild flowers.

The cottage seemed abandoned, there was no noise, except for the twittering birds. The birds and a nervous hare were the only movement outside of the shadows and sunlight. The mists were slowly disappearing and the shadows becoming less. The sun rose higher, yet to break fully free of the trees, but well seen through the almost bare branches. Yet still the cottage was dark and silent.

Suddenly the hare dashed off through the tall grasses to hide among the tree branches. The birds too for a moment seemed to fall silent, but the silence was short lived. The front door of the cottage scrapped open and closed. A man, barely seen through the shadow of the porch stood surveying the meadow before him, leaning carelessly against the wall of the cottage next to the door. The sun rose still farther, now nearly over had and finally free of the tree branches. A horse whinnied from the north of the meadow. The man tensed, but continued to lean. The birds fled when the first great horse entered the clearing, dark hoods covered the faces of the three riders. They stopped at the edge of the meadow, more apart of darkness and night then the glorious fall day the surrounded them. They waited and watched the man leaning on the wall next the the cottage. Time itself seemed to hold.