The cows are grazing to the West of the farm. And so with my four month old in his sling facing forward, I wondered into the setting sun on a lazy September evening to bring the cows home to milk. At his first sight of these black and white masses in front of him, the little one dances with delight, arms and legs wriggling to the gentle bellows of these beautiful animals.
There is no need for the ‘how, how, how’ of the farmer’s call to milk. No rush, the year is ours now to spend as we wish. Circling the cows in slow motion from the periphery of the field, we herd them gently towards the parlour. In a slow shuffle behind the cows on the dusty farm road, we are not unlike an elderly couple waltzing. It’s a dance with my little boy as he sneezes at the setting sun.