I saw cows hip deep in grass today. Black Angus. Huge creatures it seemed, when the largest I usually see are squirrels, now and then wild turkeys, maybe deer. Well, and Dozer, my friend’s dog. But even he, for all his fine, large muscles, would be smaller than one of these cows’ baby calves.
I saw a field of newly shorn sheep munching on fresh grass, too, I imagined how they must love feeling the soft air and sunlight falling on their skin now that their woolly coats were gone, their tongues tasting the green juice of spring’s grasses and clovers as they grazed,
It started like this. I was driving through rural Ohio on a fine two-lane highway, painted and paved, with no other car in sight, windows open a bit, good music on the radio.
I rounded a curve to see a small Amish wagon, a single horse pulling it as it clomped rhythmically down the highway. I felt like I was driving through the opening scene of a movie about vanishing time. Picture rolling hills, freshly plowed, here and there a farm house, a barn. In the distance, bathed in the warm, moist air, wooded hills in layers all the way to the sky. And then the wagon, the sheep, the cows.
My mind captured the unfolding scene, labeled it, tucked it away. It was important to keep, a souvenir, a treasure. Soon it will all be a dream. But I will remember. I will always remember that one day in mid-spring . . .