Fall is definitely my favorite time of year – a time of cooling off from a hot summer, cool nights, warm days, bright blue skies, and beautiful colors. Annie and I enjoyed a pretty walk up to the barn to let the girls out this morning. Sometimes we take the quad because of time constraints, sometimes we take the truck if the weather is bad.
I was hoping to get photos of the sheep but they weren’t cooperating much.
Layne attempted to help out but that is about a high as her head went. No one else even lifted their eyes up. Their fleeces are at a favorite length for me because I can still see their spot pattern and individual colors.
Thankfully, I found someone else who was willing to have their pictures taken.
A bunch of little birds were chattering away and making a ruckus in the bushes and grasses around the sheep. The bright rose hips added some gorgeous color, especially when paired with the bright greens of the water grass.
Here’s a close up of a pair – the little man has the white stripes.
How many birds are in this photo?
Cash walked right under this little guy so instead of taking flight, he stood a little taller. I love how his colors match the colors of the background and the blackberry vine itself. It draws the purples and grays out.
Another little poser – such cute little guys. I love the little details in creation.
Just after banning these two to “lie down” so they stopped scaring the birds and sheep off, I caught this little bit of love. Speaking of love…
…why, oh WHY do turkeys love me? I have never loved them, but I seem to attract every tom I’ve ever met and now even the hens come a running. Maybe I should take up hunting. 😉
Linger awhile upon some bending planks
That lean against a streamlet’s rushy banks,
And watch intently Nature’s gentle doings:
They will be found softer than ring–dove’s cooings.
Sometimes goldfinches one by one will drop
From low hung branches; little space they stop;
But sip, and twitter, and their feathers sleek;
Then off at once, as in a wanton freak:
Or perhaps, to show their black, and golden wings,
Pausing upon their yellow flutterings.
— John Keats