Yesterday,

I walked the streets through heavy snow,

wet lumps falling

slowly.

From across a large pasture,

a footstool of a goat, wide as long and

well-furred in big bodied apricot eruption,

ran straight to the sparse metal fence in greeting.

I stopped, realized he really was trotting over for me

and broke into laughter.

Excited to make his acquaintance, I squatted down.

He arrived, turned his butt to the fence,

tore large mouthfuls of long grass, chewed in exaggeration

and ignored me completely.

Laughing so hard I nearly fell over, I stayed.

He never did introduce himself.