Deep in the grassland, sharing a moment of tenderness with a lamb

As the grass brushed over my feet, the wind carried the scent of milk across the prairie. I crouched in the shade of a slope, my dress spreading like a soft cloud, while the little lamb in my arms trembled with damp fleece. Its pink nose nuzzled against my palm, the warmth mingling with the crisp freshness of grass, seeping into my heart. It sipped from the bottle in small, delicate gulps, its eyelashes still glistening with dewdrops from the grass. Occasionally, it glanced up at me, its dark grape-like eyes reflecting the endless blue of the sky and the white of my dress. In the distance, the flock of sheep scattered like stars on a green carpet, their bleats softened by the wind, and even the sunlight turned gentle, as if afraid to disturb this fleeting intimacy. My fingertips lightly traced its curly wool, and suddenly, I understood the romance of the grassland—not in its vast, galloping expanse, but in these moments close to the earth: the lamb’s breath against my palm, the scent of grass wrapped in milk, the wind lifting the hem of my dress as time itself slowed, turning into the milk dripping slowly from the bottle, each drop brimming with unspoken tenderness. When the shutter clicked, the lamb had just finished its last sip and nuzzled its cheek against me. It dawned on me that the best scenery is never a staged pose, but when you crouch down to share a patch of grassland with a little lamb, letting your heartbeat sync with its breath, becoming the softest stroke in this green masterpiece.