When we do a wee walk about out on the farm now… (we meaning, Boomer, Mindy, myself, and sometimes Terry)
The farm is alive with the tiny sounds of grass, weeds, or stalks being pulled with bottom teeth and tongue, then the slow rhythm of chewing; hooves moving through the above making a sort of swishing sound.
The rhythms of the farm has changed– from those of silence (although never silent…the sounds of scattering feet of little mice, voles, squirrels, or other quick but seldom seen creatures, the slow settling of a rock, or a pebble my shoe turns over…the calls of wild birds…no never silent)
To a different type of soothing sounds—the busy grazing of big beautiful cows…cradling the farm in their bovine warmth.
Your friend on a western Colorado farm,