Pitiful Mountain
“Where did Wilbur get his name?” I asked. The elm trees and oak shrubs were behind us; we meandered across an expanse of land which was densely populated with sun flowers, poppies, daisy, and tall blades of blue grass. The contrast between the mountain of dark immensity and this field was stark. The bees and butterflies in their golden and yellow, green, red flair zipped and darted, hovering here and there. My heart was deeply sunk with the happenings of the previous days of the procession's encounters and loss of life.
