Old posts from now defunct online journals of my past, every Thursday.
This post was originally published elsewhere on August 19, 2015.
At 5:23 this morning I was that speck you saw dragging through fog and field, milk pail and bench slung over forearm and shoulder. I am not some noble riser committed to Early Days With Intention (though I could be served well by such an effort). Simply, I am the tender of a righteously salty dam and with the day's first light in the sky, I thought it neighborly to quieten her after a full night of bellowing. How honorable for a mother of a young thing to wail through the night at mere feet of separation. If there's another baby, another human baby, on this farm, let me call this to mind in the sleepless hours.
Make me like that cow, I think (very often).