He stood on a hillside among the spring grass, like a creature with its own opinion on most matters.
His gaze was calm, almost philosophical, and his massive horns spoke of a lifetime of experience gained in countless disputes with bushes, fences, and, most likely, other members of his kind.
There was no desire to please in his appearance, no wish to make an impression.
He regarded the surrounding landscape with a level of composure that usually comes only after many years of observation and a few serious disappointments. The grass kept growing, the wind went about its business, and the ram remained in place, carrying himself with a dignity whose nature still awaits proper study.
Not everyone carries their horns with such aplomb.
Durmitor, Montenegro.June, 2025....
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