The Farm

I remember hunting at the farm.

I could see the bulls in the valley.

The sound of the bulls mooing in the valley.

Wind blowing the trees.

The sun is now set.

People as quaint as bugs walking though the valley.

Looking  and finding Frogs to shoot to the Pond.

The feel of the mud coming though my toes from the ground.
Colours shone on the river as it sparkled.

I could hear grunts as if the pigs wanted me to ride them.

by Arran