Where the Cows Sleep

A poem.

Where the Cows Sleep

I scout where the cows sleep,
tracking their cloven prints
upslope and down,
across the creek to the
high pasture, ironwood grove,
or some leafy bower
pressed against the ridge.

Often in winter they seek
the dense, sheltering cedars,
folding down in their blackness
slowly chewing their cud.

At dawn they rise
from dark, homey images –
flattened grass, pressed leaves
or melted snow,
earthen ovals, jumbled close
like disconnected dreams,
signatures on their deed to
this land.

– Sue Wunder

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