"Do you think the clouds ever get tired of floating, Barnaby?" Leo asked, his voice barely a whisper against the rustle of the wind.
Barnaby let out a soft huff, his tail thumping once against the dry earth. To Leo, that was a definitive "no." Clouds had work to do, just like the bees in the clover and the hawks circling the ridge. 5429006_035.jpg
Leo hopped down, his feet hitting the ground with a soft thud. He buried his hands in Barnaby’s thick mane, inhaling the scent of dried cedar and summer air. They walked back together, a boy and his golden shadow, leaving the fence to guard the hill until the sun returned. "Do you think the clouds ever get tired of floating, Barnaby