New Neighbors: Ignorance is Bliss

There are cows in my backyard.

I can see them from every window, across the back of my house.
Technically, they are not in MY yard, but in the pasture, behind.
And, they are not MY cows, but belong to the farm, just beyond.

Still, every day, I see them.

There is comfort in knowing that they are there.

Tan, and brown - some, with patches of white, they saunter along the field.
Their tails, like tassels, on an old-fashioned shade, swish back and forth;
their ears, twitching, reacting, to the subtle sounds around.

Sometimes, they lie down in the field, resting from hours of grazing,
   almost disappearing into the landscape.
So "chill", these cows.
Whatever their fate, they look healthy, relaxed . . . content.

Charlie cannot see them.
He is too small, and the windows, too high.
Only from atop the brown chair, in the living room.

He has, yet, to meet them up close,
   and though I would imagine it is only a matter of time before he does,
it is best that he does not.
If he is as relentless with the cows, as he was with the squirrels, back home,
he will yap at those poor cows for HOURS.

It is a temporary peace.