I pass by this field every day on my way home. It's not important which one it is, it could be any field. It's a rolling, green pasture, sprinkled with spring flowers and bursting with rich, green grasses. There's a pear tree out in the middle, and a stream running through it. On one side, it runs along the river, and often geese gaggle along the shore, haughtily daring anyone to come too close. This time of the year, there are often eagles sitting in the trees near the shore. This is a beautiful and blessed place. But the most conspicuous residents are the cows.
Large, quiet, soft-eyed cows graze the grasses, blink somberly at the geese, and gaze into the fragrant, green light of spring. Heady, heavy thoughts are obviously on their minds. Joyful, spindly-legged calves trot along beside them now, their noses wet with the dew of new life, their eyes full of the wonder of a new day. I love these cows. The mothers and their babies gather in soft communion in the shade of the pear tree, and down along the coolness of the shallow stream. Wisdom and strength reverberate through the bones and hides of these ancient mothers' sturdy bodies, while joy and faith and exuberance ring out from their leaping, wide-eyed progeny.