Sheep Descriptive Writing

I woke up one April morning with the chickadees chirping rapidly in the tree branches. I threw my pants and socks on and rushed down the stairs as the smell of fresh bread assaulted my nose. Mom was already awake and greeted me with a slice of crispy toast, the butter was perfectly melted and seeped into the crust one squeeze, and it oozed out and dripped on the floor. Once I put my boots on, my feet were excited and before I knew it, I was flying out the door. One step outside and the smell of melting snow and cold mud flooded my sinuses, and I was overwhelmed with the scent of spring. The air was crisp and cool on my face. With each breath I could feel the chilly air run down my throat and into my lungs, it was quite soothing to my thirty-seven-degree
On my walk there, the melting snow was sloshing and crunching under my rubber boots, with every step I slipped in the mud and snow. I passed the sheep pen on my way there. The sheep were bleating at me for grain and scratches under their chins, I spent some time with them feeding them hay and attention that they always crave. Their woolly coats were sticking to my dry hands. As warm and comforting as the sheep, I was determined to hop on the swing set that morning, so I set off again. When I reached the cherry orchard where the swings were located, I could smell the sweet scent of grass. There was a thick fog around the cherry bushes and swings, each breath had a moist inviting texture that made me want to inhale more. At last, I jumped on the swing set and had a rush of wind fly past my ears as I rose higher and higher into the sky. My heart was racing, and my hands were fighting the urge to let go and send me soaring through the morning sky. A red sun rose over the trees, towering so high yet so close that I felt I could reach out and grab a handful. The clouds became more visible as the red blight caressed their fluffy
I sauntered over to my destination and took my time doing so. During my trek across the driveway, I noticed an army of ants performing a Congo line in single file towards and back from a cookie I dropped the night before. The morning dew made the cookie malleable so the Ant Troppers could tear it piece by piece. I crouched down to see this spectacular event more closely and I noticed the Formicidae’s abdomens flexing as they tore off chunks of sweet cookie goodness. Leaving the inferior species to mingle and bicker over scraps and waste, I kept walking to the backyard. The sun was berating down hard on my scalp, I noticed it started to sweat as it trickled down my flushed skin and stung when it greeted my eyes. I was not the only one to feel the wrath of Earth's favorite star, because my dogs were also scouring the ground for a morsel of shade. The leaves appeared to be weeping and begging for night to creep in. I ended up sitting under an elder spruce that towered over the yard, and I could smell all the scents of spring. It appeared that summer was around the corner and was taking the world by surprise for there are pools of water where skiffs of snow stood proud this morning, but for me I just waddled back inside to take advantage of Mom's fresh