I love watching cows. They remind me of my blankets on cold nights, when all is freezing, and I need something to snuggle up with. Each cow is unique, like a snowflake. Sometimes it’s hard to find the difference, but if you look close enough the picture becomes clear.

Just seeing them, in a meadow, by a stream, relaxing in their own private sanctuary. One they might have not chosen, but one they must accept.

I watch them closely, looking for a pattern. As they chew their food, twitching their ears, as if they remember something. From time to time the bell might ring, and every time they go to it to be milked, in a way that would seem to be a perfect society.

They all get in a line to milk as they always have, it never changes, never. And every night they go to sleep in their red barn as they always have. Never changes, never.

Then, as they come upon troubles in their routine, maybe a fly here or a mosquito there, they swat at them with their tails, and then walk away. They continue their task, if it was only eating or bathing in the sun and waiting, waiting for a refreshing sprinkle of rain, whatever it was, they go back to do it. In the same fashion; the same every time.

Many times I observe them calm, and under a tree -- a willow tree with a beautiful Spanish moss that covers the tree like a scarf.

Watching them graze in their particular mouth motion, swat a fly, move away. Repeat. Hear the bell. Walk slowly to their imminent destiny, the same way as they always have. Then, the way they always have, they march together, as a whole, to the stream. Then eat. Repeat. The second bell rings. They get comfortable to retire for the day, the way they always have.

Never changes, never.