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Disorder, birdsong and sedentary cattle

Full-on spring chorus this morning – including jackdaws on bass. The chaffinches are sounding for spring, there’s a robin testing the accoustics of the hayshed – is that a blackbird?
By the time I’m in for breakfast, the windows run with sleet driven from the west. More sunlight follows irradiating the storm, turning it three dimensional- a shining presence fit for visitation.
Soon the cattle too have had breakfast and progress from the calving paddock to the hayfield – a facility gifted by a new gateway installed at the weekend. I monitor how they react to the changed circumstances. They are lying down – out of the chill wind. They lie fanned out – Billy at the head facing his harem – the ladies looking back in a loose fan formation – Demi-Og at a distance, still unsure of herself after I displaced her, bringing her close in case she calves early.
Old white Morag is at the back. Lying against the fence. The top of the field is wet here with rushes growing though the mossy grass. The others are lined up on Billy, she alone looks away. I realise she is almost in the exact spot where I helped her calve eight years ago with Cyril the roofer watching from the farm road.
At the end of the day they are back in the paddock; I close the gate for the night, then uphill with the Nog. The chaffinches are singing still.
Catkins hang from the hazels. Up by the monument cold rain makes my head burn. A dogfox lies dead on the path.
This is a day of fragments.

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