When the Cows Come Home.

[So this post has nothing to do with my life adventures or anything important at all. Just so you know.] 

I used to watch the cows as they went to work in the morning and head back home every night. I would sit on the floor at my Grannie’s and watch out the patio door window as the long line of cows across the feilds would on home every evening. I would count lines up and over 100 cows long, all single file, following the cow’s bum in front of their face, all the way home. In the morning when I set the table for breakfast sometimes I would stop and watch them plod out to the pasture. I like cows. Their single-file steadiness and the bell on the lead cow was beautiful, somehow.

Tonight I watched the cows again. New cows, different cows, fewer cows. But cows. Cows with white heads in the valley below my home. 4, then 7, then 3, like cars on a string. Heading down the valley at dusk. I like cows.

There are no philosophical epiphanies, powerful analogies, or deep thoughts on life here. I hope you weren’t expecting any. Actually, if you got this far, kudos to you.

Really, I just wanted to say that I like cows.

In case you didn’t get that.

2 Comments Add yours

  1. Given the opportunity I happen to believe that the cows would express that they too, like you! 🙂

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