Sixty days ago, I was frozen mid-blizzard.
Crunching through snow.
Questioning relocation.
Battling commentary.
Today?
Grass beneath steady hooves.
Coat restored.
Wind negotiated.
Mud mastered.
Rival respected.
Calf improving.
Goat… tolerable.
Spring has settled.
I walked the full perimeter again at sunset.
Not proving anything.
Not recovering.
Just reigning.
The sky burned gold behind me.
The pasture quiet.
My dossan perfectly aligned.
Official Statement:
“I am no longer surviving the seasons. I am defining them.”
Until tomorrow.
Respect. The. Hair.
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