The ground has not thawed out yet, the snow has not melted, it sure looks like everything is still sleeping. Slow moving, unmotivated, nothing moves forward.
That stream, half frozen, breaking through the edges, wearing down the ice. Shouldn’t step on it but will any way — it’s the only way to get across.
You can see the grass, or is that what this is? It’s been so long, you can’t tell any more, it’s all one color: brown, like everything else.
The horses got curious, walked over then stood there, disappointed. It’s the morning, the mud still frozen. Eventually it’ll get warmer, loosen everything up. We’ll try again then.