Today I saw dozens of black cows standing freckled in the drizzle in an open and golden field.
Not long after, a string of black balancing birds perched on an electrical wire against a gray sky like a poster.
She shed languishing tears onto her black embroidered shirt while holding a fading black and white bunny in a brown towel.
Pacey, a ten-year-old black and white rabbit, now swaddled in a soiled brown towel, and sprawled out on a stainless steel table.
I wore faded black jeans and a dirty off-white coat while waiting underneath florescent lights reflecting off the shiny steel.
Our hearts swelled and crested over puffy pink lids in our last few moments together.
They put the spotted rabbit into a white and green cardboard box, and secured it with transparent tape.
Then there were red eyes and faces pilloried toward the dreary and damp January Thursday.
We loved that black and white rabbit crimson for over a decade.
