It is another morning in Maydown, and I am the first to see it creeping over the eastern hills. The hills are fuzzy in the morning mist. They look like sleeping puppies all rumpled together. I inhale the morning’s fragrance as I leave the sleepy town and walk toward the cluster of dark spots that are my cows, brown and black against the grey hills. Wet grass, spring blossoms, and the first hints of fresh bread at the bakery tease the air. Who needs hearing when there are such sights and smells?
North from here, a thin spiral of smoke snakes into the sky. I have heard there is an oddity in Halfpenny Gate, a man who wishes to fly. He does not seem the type to rest. I wonder if he will succeed.
I reach my cows and stroke the nearest one’s side, feeling it thrum with her mooing. Tying her to the nearby fence, I begin milking. How I love my cows, being with them in the fresh stillness of the day, away from the curious and the doubtful. Maydown folk did not think I would survive after my parent’s death. But I have done more than that. I am more content than the great lady who lives in the great house at the other end of Maydown. I may be deaf, but I have all I need. And I see so much more than people know.
Just now, I see something that arrests my thought. There is another spiral of smoke from the direction of the pond southeast of here. No one has lived there for many years. But it is near Rosslea Woods.
Someone has left the forest.
Tales of Enndover 2