Day Three of the Vacation 2011: Meeting the Buffalo

                                   August 2

   Excerpt from journal: I write this from a mossy knoll overlooking a great valley.  An old wooden fence separates the rock-and-grass path in front of me from the sprawling fields where the buffalo roam.  I can see a herd of them in a far-off field, grazing amidst the luscious green.  Everything is so green here.  I know that's because it rains a lot (well, most of the time), but we've had lovely weather.
   We had no buffalo sightings the first evening, but the next morning, after a delightful home-made breakfast, Ginny, Mom, and I walked up the path toward the barns to see the calves. There were four calves with big eyes and wet noses; they were very friendly and liked to use their rather long tongues to explore your hand.  While we were up there one of the farmers corralled a whole herd of buffalo past us!  They're large, though not so large as some of the cows I've seen, with short, dark fur and long, wise faces.  They have horns that curl out of their heads, and they voice their feelings in low, loud grunts, rather more emphatically than cattle.  That, along with the twitter of birds, the whisper of wind, and Apollo's occasional barking, are the most common sounds heard in this incredible place.

   Oh!  How can I even begin to capture the spirit of this place?  I feel so... at ease.  The gnarled, lovely profile of trees in the evening; the wavy view of the world through the upstairs windows, where the glass' flow has just begun to show; the smell of earth and new dung in the morning; a certain quiet in the air and life in the ground.

   Beside me is a little yellow flower.  When I sat down it was curled up like a tulip, but glancing over I see that during my time writing here it unfurled.  These tiny, nameless, wordless things are what make me love it here.