Sun Mote Copse yesterday I hiked over a river that was not there

@Liri | sorry this took so long :P

     The world was a dastard display of warmth and fertility, blanketed in a swathy mist of vibrant yellow pollen (no doubt fragments of the sun itself) and rolling straths. Deep, honey-golden hues of shimmering scarlet leaves and rosy transients filtered in and out of perception. The breeze thrummed across his chest, buffetting at his flaxen coat with humble tenacity. Sea-green orbs scanned the horizon, serene amidst the swirling masterpiece. If ever there were a more accurate depiction of spring, it would be here and now. Its very conception was taking place before his eyes.

     He was admittedly vulnerable as he stood there, tail tucked around his paws. His mass was large, but not astoundingly conspicous, in the afternoon luster. The valley swayed and dipped beneath him, tumbling strands of nectar-coated beeds arching at the wind's whispering command. He wanted to lay across the earth and submit himself to the cause, but instinct told him better. Already, the sweet scent of the cedars was losing potency to that of a new, encroaching rift. His ears cocked unwittingly in anticipation as he stood, drawing himself to his full height, to address the stranger.