The Neighbours

The fence was finished.
The work was done.

And then we properly met
our neighbours.

Cows.

The land used to be pasture.
Of course it did.
It still remembers.

Imagine sitting on the terrace.
The sun going down.
A cold lemonade in your hand.

And a slowly moving herd
grazing across the field.

It sounds romantic.
And it is.

But when the local farmer first saw our plans,
he wasn’t exactly thrilled.

He probably imagined city people complaining —
about the smell,
about the flies,
about the cows simply existing.

What he didn’t know
was that we never planned to fight the landscape.

We fenced our hectare.
Not to separate ourselves from it —
but to live with it properly.

The fence keeps the cows at a respectful distance.
(And yes — that helps with the smell and the flies.)

But it still allows the view.
The movement.
The rhythm of the herd.

In summer, they became part of our days.

On hot afternoons,
we would sit for hours
watching the herd slowly shift
from one side of the pasture to the other.

A moving landscape.

An antistress film.
Better than any screen.

Cows are cool.