______"GOATS FOR SALE," blared a sign from the distance. The sign was plastered to a tree, crooked from months or years of wind, and written in hastily painted red letters. A tuft of leaves fell over a part of the word "GOATS" like a punk rock singer's hair over one of his eyes, but it was still legible._Something within me stirred. Anticipation, perhaps. A hopeful taste of what was to come._
______I was biking up a hill and my eyes darted left and right, eagerly awaiting an awe-inspiring vision of goats with every downward push of the pedals. An angelic choir sung in my head. There were many farms around the back roads I biked, but they were always filled with horses or cows. Never before had I seen goats. The morning fog misted over my glasses as if a hoard of those winged babies that appear in Renaissance paintings was spitting on them, and it was quiet, quiet as could be.
______And that was when I saw them: beyond a wirey fence tamed only by the weeds curling around its gridded structure, there they were, all staring eyes and furry bodies that resembled something gone wrong in a synthetic fiber making plant.
______I slowed my bike to a leisurely pace and hopped off it, maintaining eye contact with the goats. The goats and I neared each other like two awestruck hipsters in a Starbucks who were about to compare beard lengths.
______They were huddled against the fence, each squirming to get in front of the other, stepping on each other's hooves and shuffling about the grass. Their hooves stomped the dewy grass and some of them snorted and shook their gnarly little beards. A few "baaaa-ed" at me, their slitted eyes blinking, their heads undulating like fishing bobbers in water.
______"My dad doesn't believe in your existence," I whispered to the goats. They licked their furry goat-lips eagerly as if I was formulated from the finest rubber boots and day-old newspapers (I hear they prefer The Wall Street Journal over The New York Times). Alas, I was not made of such goat-enticing materials. I was only made of Ali, which is only rich in ingredients like local drugstore lipstick, fabric clippings, and cinnamon. I suppose the tennis shoes I was wearing at the time could have called out to them, but it was not likely.
______I carried on with my message to the goats.
______"He thinks you're not real. He doesn't believe me when I say I saw all of you." The goats listened intently, or perhaps they just wanted to gnaw at my tasty-looking bike tires. Rubber is a siren to goats, or so I've heard. You should fact check that. I definitely did not fact check that. In fact, I rarely fact check anything and the words I blog should never be cited in an academic paper.
______I continued, "I've seen you before and now I'm seeing you again."
______A goat with eyebrows fuzzier than the fuzziest caterpillar in all of fuzzy caterpillar land came forth.
______"He is not a believer," the goat said. Did that goat just speak? A car whizzed by rather closely and I increased my distance toward the fence. I whipped around to see a man in a red Ford giving me an odd look as he zoomed by.
______Did I hear that? I turned back toward the fence.
______And as if they were never there, the goats were gone.
Dress: KnowStyle (similar)
Kimono: Alter'd State (similar)
Earrings: Charming Charlie
Bunny ring: Claire's
Hair: styled by momma, as always :)