A cow greeted me this morning as I walked out. She had a loud hefty moo for a woman. Definitely alto. Or even base. There are two women in the choir that sing with the bases. I would not call them cows. They wouldn’t understand that I was complementing them.
Cows represents nurturing others as they offer their milk and sacrifice as they give their meat. I thought how pleasurable it is to give milk, so much so that it causes pain when there is no one to receive it. The cow seems to need to be needed. As a cow of the human variety, I can relate to that.
I always can tell when cows need to give their milk in the morning when I hear a chorus of cows and their lowing is higher pitched than usual and angry sounding. “The farmer slept in,” I think.
The cow doesn’t think about the meat offering. She just goes about her daily affairs not even aware that her end will come. Sacrifice for her is part of life and she isn’t likely to let thoughts of it ruin her joy of munching grass and watching the neighbors walk by.
I have seen cows, Polish cows anyway, dance to polka music. They do it with a calm swaying motion and don’t seem to get all out of breath like I do when I do my native dance. I think a cow would think me foolish for exhausting myself like that.
I love it when the creatures come by to tell me their secrets. They say, “This is what the Creator of us all wants of you…to do as I do.”