City Boy Lost in Nature
In Britain, once the stud farm of the globe, a city boy is lost in the Peak District. The breeze diverts the drizzly rain, drop by drop, saturating his kinked hair, his face, his clothes, his black Clarks casual. Even his spliff gets soaked, but all this is new—a different view—traversing narrow pathways past a pretty waterfall cascading a symphony.
He follows the stream, sprints over a railway line; it seemed fine, for the speeding train looked a mile away. By the time his beating heart calms down, he hops over the stile tagged private land, carefully slipping through the farmer’s barbed wire and staring into the parted eyes of a bovine.
The first thing that springs to the city boy’s mind as the Holstein Friesian’s left eye scans this dark and novel stimulus is: Did you know your belch and farts are blamed for man’s impending doom? Forget cocaine, I’d rather sniff this pristine air beside you. And is it true your calves are snatched at birth, and all the firstborn males slaughtered for veal? Were you hot ironed, tail docked, and tasered with a cattle prod? This cow seems so intelligent—her eyes well up.
This potent cow, if reared in India, would be revered and considered sacred. Right now, she’s my friend and maternal figure, this cow is remembered. Some say she represents Mother Goddess Gau Mata. It doesn’t matter—the city boy sighs. He has no watch, but the hills are touching the horizon; it’s time to find your way home.
Further Reading: What’s the beef with cows and the climate crisis?
Another Poem by Skendong: Swine Flu and COVID-19’s Devastating Dance