I drove down to the road this morning and saw five of my neighbors's Longhorn Cattle feeding off the new green buds on the trees next to their fence. I sat and watched them. They are the most interesting cattle to me. Their ancestors, brought to America by the Spanish, roamed wild for centuries. These hardy cattle thrived without help from man.
In the verge of trees this morning, they had to keep moving their long horns out of tangled branches. They were watched over by a fine sleek bull. His basic color was cream, with splatters of shoe polish brown on his hide. He looked exactly like Jackson Pollock had loaded a paintbrush with paint over nad over and splattered it on his hide.

Mosquitos are bad, and he twitched his tail over his back repeatedly to shoo them away. On parts of his skin where the tail couldn't reach, he would shiver his skin to move them. He watched me fixedly and I watched him. He wanted to make sure no one was gonna mess with his harem. Maybe he was just as curious about me as I was about him. He stood near his charges until I left and they continued nibbling on tree buds.

That reminds me, here on the first day of Spring, that we had a mild winter that abruptly changed to summer with 80 degrees plus temps. Back in the dark ages when I was growing up, we actually had Springs, where icy winters slowly gave way to gradually warming days, and the flowers bloomed in their natural sequence. Now with no Spring, the flowers and trees seem confused and worn out from hurrying to bloom and bud.
As I heard someone say the other day, "the sun don't look right." Well, something isn't right, right?

susil