On a drive to Smith Point hawk watch a couple of years ago, still early in the day. Most livestock does not have it this good. If you can call being raised to the slaughter a good thing.
We like our steaks.
I bet cows have some poems in them, or maybe some blues tunes. I think of time passing I think of the poems that slip away unwritten.
A wordless moment, with the sun in back, and low. Cattle egret waiting for a bull to move and stir up some insects, or maybe a grass snake.
They like their snakes.