June. The cows are on new grass. The apple trees in blossom. Friday’s rain ushered in a cold spell that feels almost fall-like, but still everything is growing, growing, growing, pushing skyward, full of new life, even as the world disintegrates into tiny shards of glass. I ride my bike, passing an old dairy farm, three young men in the barnyard. They’re gathered around an old John Deere tractor, tools scattered in all directions. I soon pass the herd, out grazing a rough piece of pasture. Their big heads swivel as they watch me pass. Jersey’s, mostly. So big and quiet.
Later, having ridden the gravel road miles further, to the point at which it has narrowed to a muddy track and then even a little further, I pass back by the cows and soon, the barnyard. Only one man working on the tractor now. No sign of the others. I descend a long, steep hill, pedalling faster and faster, until my eyes water with the speed and I’m out of gearing and there’s nothing left to do but just hang on.