Summer heat intense enough
to forget the rainy days beyond
the blinding sheets of delirium
framed in flames. The trickle
of the creek shrinks each day
as young cows bring calves down
to shade and well-water
before we gather to wean—
first-calvers looking for relief,
yearning for those days of virginity,
of curious discovery free
from bovine responsibilities.
Never in this world the same,
yet no better mother than a cow—
Happy Mother’s Day!
Posted in Photographs, Poems 2025, poetry, Ranch Journal
Tagged cow, Mother's Day, photography, poetry, weather
Four-thirty and it’s cooled down
from 115—black cows are leaving
sycamore shade for the water trough,
>
plodding several hundred yards of hard clay
and short blond fuzz to drink,
not like last night’s forceful mob,
>
but one-by-one, the order established
over years of living together—uphill
two hundred more to shady Blue Oaks
>
to gather and decide which way to go.
The heat has slowed their rhythm
only slightly, they are bound to graze
>
what’s left on the slopes behind us:
take the steep trail to the top of the ridge
or the long pull only part-way to the sky.
Posted in Photographs, Poems 2021, Ranch Journal
Tagged bovine democracy, cow, grazing, habits, politics
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