The Cows at Peaceful Meadows

 

The lone dogwood tree is in full bloom,

In midst of grassy plush,

Beneath the noontime sun the blossoms

Propel a pinkish blush;

Behind the ice cream take-out, next to the farmer’s house

Are nine-and-twenty cows.

A decade of summer dawns has warmed me    

Since I last met their gaze;

Memories of Jerseys and ink-stained Holsteins

Who lazily would graze

And snub kindliness while chewing cud

Near troughs framed in mud.

I’ve pondered the fate of these brown-eyed beauties,

Swatting flies with their tails.

I return today to find little changed since

I first peered through the wooden rails.

Muddy orbs that fail to reflect my hospitality;

Smoky mirrors of apathy.

Optimistic still, with my sons alongside,

I crouch down to scratch the ear

Of a heifer who never ends her methodical graze,

Ignores each accolade I share.

I wonder why I partake of this rite

As ice cream melts from sight.

I stand to contemplate the pastoral scene;

Complacent cows with audience

Framed by the dogwood carousel of spring

Dairy barn and post rail fence

And muse upon the allure that draws me to this place

Of passive dissonance and beastly grace. 

© Copyright pending Susan R. O'Brien