Poetry, Essays and Art By J.H. Dickinson from All-Creatures.org

 

By a muddied field

Booted, I arrive, roadside,
by a muddied field.
We meet, little calf.
You munching,
mother watching.

A reprieve.
No veal cart in sight.
But separation will come.

Brown eyes examine.
Huffs and grunts of herd.
Breath propelled in frosty air.
Human and animals, observant.

Winter bites.
Your place in this world
snipes at me.
I don’t know how to change this.

I nod, a cyclist whizzing past
without a glance at you.
No interest
or perhaps, realisation of your fate.

No notion of the itch in my head
and cognitive thrumming,
that will not cease to be.

No peace
until I witness
an end to this.

You snort and shift,
returning to heavy scented,
familiar – Familia.
And I have nothing to say that is useful.

So, I leave you,
little calf,
russet brown,
rippling with life and breathy vitality.

On a frost-winter morn
by a muddied field.

Art © 2022 J.H. Dickinson

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