On the flatland was a field so green, had cute blue
flowers that tend to disappear in end of spring.
The pasture was framed by purple poppies and no
sheep around, those infernal eating machines that
graze meadows into wasteland. Stood in the middle
of this succulence, the aroma was overwhelming...
I swooned.
Sank down on my knees buried my face in the moist
wondrousness and wished I were a stallion.
