The afternoon path led me through several valleys to this one, vibrant green with spring freshness and the recent rain, brown from the heather thickly blanketing the hills. But the sight that most caught my attention was the lamb, newborn white, staring at me from atop an ancient stone wall. His eyes were filled to the brim with wonder, glorying in the Welsh hills and the fresh, vivid air. He stared at me for just a moment then was gone.
My eyes followed the lamb as he joined brothers and sisters frolicking and bounding through the endless hills, playing a game with rules unknown to me. How does one describe such...life?
Later on, I found the sheep: matted, wet, looking forlorn and huddled on the hillside. Each one was stained the color that their master had chosen for them. As I watched them face the burdens of the day, it hit me: all we like sheep have gone astray.
(This was written several years ago when I was in Britain but never published.)
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