What Winter said was so flagrant in its wrongness that Willow leaned away and gave a polite but windy cough. Clover crumpled up her bright face and green hands and turned rusty brown. Grass, like Willow, leaned away. Sheep huddled against the awful wind, turned their fleecy bums and ducked their heads and scurried off … Continue reading Fable of the Eternal Round →