It is impossible to go anywhere without the goats unless you lock them up before leaving. They will see you halfway across a field or up a path and come scampering to catch up; they lock into herd mode and fall into step, subsuming all other species into their collective culture. They bravely trudge through unbroken trails, heave themselves over fallen logs and remind us to pause and sample the lichens.
There is something so impossibly truthful about walking with goats; something that hearkens back to some ancient memory of moving endlessly with flocks of livestock across a wild world.
The slow crush of hooves through snow crust; the murmur of breath; the soft thrum of all things. The forest opens and opens and opens.