Bella Revisited
by Odin Roark

Inside the barn,
the air is cold.

I wash the udder with warm water.

Milking begins.

Bella,
so giving,
her liquid life ever faithful,
even as she bears aloneness
day and night.

Straw,
an icy water bucket,
her only friends
until milking time.

Such warmth and tenderness here.

Does she suffer at times
as precious memories fade,
yesterday’s sun on her back,
green grass between her teeth,
fly and mosquito agitation game play,
the good and bad seasonal parts of her life?

What of the calf,
once hers,
pressed lovingly against her legs
birth’s warmth and tenderness,
fragrances only mother and newborn can know.

I look up,
her brown eyes blink at mine,
our mute conversation pauses,
both knowing another winter day
has passed,
Spring in nearer.

She sighs another cloud of vapor,
today’s anticipation rising from
her heavy body.

She inhales the cold
deep into a sluggish bloodstream,
preserving her life
for the coming season’s rewards.

I stand,
stroke her large head,
scratch the roots of her horns,
while our moist eyes linger.

We connect,
even though
Our needs remain different.

Lifting the bucket of warm milk,
I lean in and whisper,
“You are loved, dear Bella.
Truly loved.”

I step outside.

Darkness sets in.

At my heels,
the cat tilts her head,
her tongue anticipating,
as the moo “good night,”
signals Bella settling,
holding faithfully to
the night's ever promising pledge;
tomorrow's dawn is coming.