Three wonderful cows

I had a very nice dream about cows the other night.

(My brother wasn't in it, but he can serve as illustration since I miss him a lot. What does Latin America have that I don't? No, don't answer that.)

The dream was set in a lush, Norwegian summer countryside, with green fields and red barns and white farmhouses and crooked, old fences. There were wildflowers by the dirt road I was walking along, and buckets full of fresh milk waiting in small sheds to be picked up by the dairy truck. There were long, soft straws of grass tickling my calves and pebbles sneaking into my sandals.

I stopped here and there to pick strawberries or visit funny little shops where they had paisly fabrics and wicker baskets and homemade fudge. But whenever I lingered for a little while, three friendly cows showed up to nudge me on. I would laugh at them and tell them to be patient, be patient, and they would look at me serenely with moist, gentle, brown eyes, and I would walk on.

Where we were going, I never found out (though I have a theory that I will keep to myself a little while longer.) But that's okay. Summer will be here soon enough.