Grief never leaves me. Most of the time it sits quietly, the sorrow in my heart, the tears settling behind my eyes.
This longhorn cow was a beauty on my way down the driveway checking out a Bed & Breakfast I dreamed of staying at with Scott one day. The lodging, a farmhouse, painted my favorite butter yellow surrounded by a white picket fence, with a bistro table on private decks opening from each room above looking out over the valley. In the short distance your eyes fall upon rolling vineyards and spring lavender waiting to bloom. If the price to stay a night is reasonable during a slow tourist week in the future, I am tempted to book a room for myself. I will pack some fruit, cheese, a sourdough baguette and a nice bottle of wine, journals, a book or two and let myself just be wherever my spirit takes me. I might walk down the road and talk to this cow or the sheep and lambs I met on my way up to the house.