Archived in 2022
Originally posted on 06 Dec 2005
This morning I had to make an unscheduled trip home in order to take my ailing car to the mechanic. Once you leave the Novato city limits, the drive north on 101 to my place rolls through hills and pastures and a vineyard or two.
On my way home this morning I passed a field full of cows, which is nothing out of the ordinary. Except for the fact that all of these cows were lying down, their bovine legs tucked up to their spotted tummies. And they were all facing the same direction.
Had it been earlier in the morning I’d have said that they were watching the sunrise (which was glorious today). Had it been later in the day, they could have been trying to the glare of the setting sun from their big brown cow eyes. But no, it was 9am and the sun was well on its way along its daily trek.
So what was up with these cows? Sitting as they were I fully expected to look over my right shoulder and see a stage set up at the other end of the field. These were the cows who couldn’t afford reserved tickets and had to get general admission lawn seats, obviously. Perhaps it was a graze-in theatre, showing the latest second run hits. Or maybe it was a bovine folk music festival. Poetry slam? “Moo moo moo moo moo moo moo moo…” Iambic pentameter, of course. Cows are staunchly conservative where verse is concerned. Their artistic sensibilities are offended by that rascal blank verse. Some, however, are known to be partial to haiku now and then.
Regardless, it was an odd scene. Since traffic was actually moving for a change I didn’t have the chance to watch them for very long. So the audience of cows will probably always be a mystery. Unless we all choose to believe the poetry slam idea, that is. I know that’s my choice.