Different Kind of Day

As soon as I stepped off the back steps I could sense that the morning was a different sort of morning. A wounded bird sat high in the tree, nursing whatever was wrong, but fussing loudly in bird language. It could not fly, attempts only took it to a different branch. The goats were running in the pasture, and Pepper was barking wildly at them from her pen. The rooster was crowing as if the sun had just come up. The wind in the trees carried with it some promise of change. Maybe rain, maybe a cool front. Something is not as it has been.

Camera in hand, prepared to capture my morning forever, but the pictures didn't match what was around me, until I changed to black and white. Then it all seemed to fit perfectly this odd sort of day.

Pepper giving me her sad look, waiting to be let out of her pen so she can dance her puppy dance right next to me.