Pastoral.
Almost expect to see some voluptuous, topless woman in a powdered wig being fed fruit while reclined on swirling blankets. You know- those pale puffy people boobie paintings of the Renaissance kind. Instead it's just sheep on a pretty day while a Vespa flies by.
This is my neighborhood. The tolling of tiny bells is acutally endearing. Even early in the morning. But the roosters that start crowing at 3am may meet their death. Cock-a-doodle-dead.
On occasion I have to wait while the herd crosses the street. Stragglers seem to pop out of no where and it's not like playing Frogger. If you hit a sheep you owe the shepherd the sum of five generations of sheep. If you hit six or more sheep it is considered the shepherd's fault. Do you think it immoral if I back up and hit a couple more to meet the quota of no guilt?
At least lamb is delicious.
While waiting, this Mom had twins. They bounced around within a minute. All skippy and happy. I was so enchanted with the gore and beauty I forgot to grab my camera until they started to walk away. So much cuter than a cow giving birth. Or my sisters.
