The Cattle Poem by Gert Strydom

It was early on a winter morning in the twilight
in the hour before the sun lights up the world,

but unlike most winter mornings near to Cape Town
this morning there was no rain that did drizzle,

some fog hanged across the dam like a patch of smoke
and in winter's white frost even the grass of the veldt was covered.

My breath made small clouds of vapour before the wind
with its icy fingers did touch my ears pulled at my coat.

The silence was everywhere as if totally alone in the world I were
while around me the hill's peaks looked like harsh monstrous rocks,

while I opened the gate to the field which always did creak
but it had been newly oiled and swung open without a sound

and there were the herd of black and white patched Frisian cows
about a hundred huge animals with udders full of milk in the grey twilight

standing like statues as if all of them were frozen solid
where big-eyed, always dog friendly they did watch.

They did not graze or even chew the cud but were breathing,
not a single one did swing a tail or moved

and this was very surreal while without a bellow or moo
they stood as if glued solid to that piece of ground

and they were right there near to me but I was alone
while everything did feel very lonely

in that twilight world.

Slowly the peaks of the Helderberg Hill to the west
was aglow with the orange-red rays of the round rising sun

and the sky turned to a cloudless cobalt blue
while the moon and morning star was still glowing in it.

In the distance a guinea fowl creaked like a wheelbarrow
when it made its first greeting to its mate,

a cock crowed as if wanted to trumpet in
the glory of another winter's day

and unnoticed the herd of cattle had moved much closer to me
where I was waiting at the entrance of the dairy

where they were ready to be milked,
were waiting patiently

and in my memory these moments of tranquillity do remain.

© Gert Strydom