Cows stood quietly in the rosy glow of an early morning.

Fog still rested over the pasture, softening the fields until they looked more like a watercolor painting than a farm.

Stepping from the car, cool morning air wrapped around me

Birds were waking, and across the pasture the cows answered one another with gentle calls drifting through the mist.

It lasted only a few minutes.

When I returned, the fog had burned away, the road was busy, chores had begun, and the painting was gone.