Sleepy Fox Hollow sonnenaufgang

  Mahler could tell Anselm the name of every plant trifold -- it would not stick.

  His eyes were wide as his father lead him further from anything he had known. Anselm was a homebody in a traditional sense; his heart thrummed and his mind spun as he drank in new sights without the collusive presence of his siblings. Later he would brag in his childlike way to his siblings that Papa had taken him all by himself -- but for now he was too busy trying to look and smell and see everything the world had to offer.

  They approached a new forest. Anselm had never been here before. A thousand tantalizing scents wafted up to him. Some he knew from his time close to the stream. Others were titillating and new. Anselm trotted obediently at Mahler's hips, little ears working in overtime.