As slowly and deliberately as the first, great yawn of the morning, life around Cunningham Farm wakes and stretches toward the new day.
An early spring storm blew across the land during the night, blowing things this way and that, bringing down new leaves and old branches.
The crisp, moist air smells sweet (almost good enough to eat) as a million rising suns reflect in a million clinging raindrops, making everything glisten and gleam.
Warm breaths rise from the barnyard and linger briefly in the cold, damp dawn as smoke begins to drift from the kitchen chimney and another day on the little farm begins for all – for both the big and the very, very small.
Night wraps around the land like a great, cozy comforter, as life on and around the farm settles down for another winter’s eve. A gentle snowfall coats the fields and farmhouse with a frosty, white layer – like icing on a cake.
The sound of the wind against the windows and through the trees makes Lauren snuggle further beneath her blankets and cuddle closer to Noble curled contentedly at her side. In the dark of her room, she tries to imagine the shapes of each tiny snowflake and soon dreams of a land with castles made of ice and people made of snow; while Noble dreams of chasing rabbits and diving into snowdrifts.
Somewhere in their sleep, the two friends meet and walk side by side across the farm, making tracks in the snow everywhere they go to say hello to life on old Cunningham Farm.