Day 39- 10.25.20
Miles in the middle of California
Something happens when you watch
a cloud’s shadow tracking along
the yellowed mountains
from the passenger seat. It starts as a pebble, as a feeling of smallness
followed by the physical sensation of place;
that sense that here and now
is, in times like these, touchable. Palpable.
And just when that thin grace
has washed, warm water-like, over you,
that’s the moment the stench arrives
through the car vents.
Have you smelled it?
That extraordinarily specific scent of
thousands upon thousands of cows,
fattened between fences and now,
smack in the middle of a Sunday afternoon,
herded away from the highway’s edge
to the slaughter.