From the Deck...

Sorry I haven't posted in a while. It's been a hell of a semester, and when the summer starts I'll take a couple of hours to blog it out and tell you about it.

But today, I'd like to share an experience that happened to me just a few minutes ago.

Every so often, I get a craving in my spirit for silence. Not just quiet, but silence; I can stand the white noise of the world. Cars driving past and birds singing are no problem. It's the people that get under my skin. Conversations, laughter, comments in passing... Suddenly the world is filled with people who have no desire except to hear their voice echo in the otherwise clean and pristine air, people who feel that the space they walk through is an empty void best handled by a boost in personal volume. And these people, whether they be friends, family, or otherwise... When the fit takes me, they all grate against the fiber of my being.

So this afternoon I sought refuge in a bowl of ice cream, my iPod, and the back deck which just so happens to look out across a cow pasture. Bono was singing "Walk On," the wind was playing with my hair, and I had successfully escaped the hubbub of the indoors. As I was thoughtfully letting a lump of Mocha Madness melt in my mouth, one cow looked at me.

This cow was set apart from the group; the closest one to me, away from the herd. The rest of the cows had their heads buried in tufts of grass, concerned only with their next bite; this cow had locked eyes with me. As we continued to hold each other's gaze, thoughts began to flow...

"I like this cow. He and I are similar; trying to break away from the bunch, not conforming to what the rest of the herd is doing. Seeking a home in the outdoors, looking for meaning beyond the fences which hold us back. This is a good cow."

As my personal reverie continued, I began to feel a kind of kinship with this creature. "This cow knows me," I thought. "This cow gets it."

I broke away from the beast's gaze and pushed some Mocha Madness around in my bowl. I looked up; the cow still stared me down. Then, ponderously, he lowered his head to the grass and sniffed. Looked back up; looked back down, then methodically walked away. The rest of the herd absentmindedly followed, noses still buried in the grass. "Huh," I thought. "How cool is that."

And at that moment I realized what an awkward thing it is to have a cow icily glaring at you while you eat a dairy product.