BY Marie Casamento SGS

Cows, quivering, shivering,
in huddled stoops waiting for dawn.
Their heated breath
linking with the morning mist
as it weaves its way
through grey-green gums.
Cows cuddling, snuggling,
in the only strand of sunlight
to glisten on frost-coated grass.
Cows bedecked with diamond droplets,
frozen along their backbones
in glorious array
as they catch sun’s early morning light.
A bird begins to sing,
breaking the silence
that permeates the paddocks.
Flitting, flighty wagtails
dip and swoop throughout the village garden.
Kookaburras cackle uproariously
at their own jokes.
Villagers speak of long-awaited rain
as they sit in the sun
on local village seats,
sharing warmth with a friend
before toddling, scootering
to the next stop.
Such is life in cow-pasture villages.
Trees once bedecked in summer green
stand naked,
their autumn robes
a russet rustle beneath their feet.
Their grey silhouettes
filter the winter sunlight,
promising spring will not be long.
Yes we know well,
the Ordinary is bedecked
in the greening of extraordinary mystery, bejewelled with frost on the backs of huddled cows.