The moon was like a full cup tonight,too heavy, and sank in the mistsoon after dark, leaving for light
faint stars and the silver leavesof milkweed beside the road,gleaming before my car.
Yet I like driving at nightin summer and in Vermont:the brown road through the mist
of mountain-dark, among farmsso quiet, and the roadside willowsopening out where I saw
the cows. Always a shockto remember them there, thosegreat breathings close in the dark.
I stopped, and took my flashlightto the pasture fence. They turnedto me where they lay, sad
and beautiful faces in the dark,and I counted them–fortynear and far in the pasture,
turning to me, sad and beautifullike girls very long agowho were innocent, and sad
because they were innocent,and beautiful because they weresad. I switched off my light.
But I did not want to go,not yet, nor knew what to doif I should stay, for how
in that great darkness could I explainanything, anything at all.I stood by the fence. And then
very gently it began to rain.
See original: The Cows At Night by Hayden Carruth
