The last of the three black steers of Piney Woods Church Road is gone now. The other two were taken away months back, leaving him alone in his roadside pasture. I could often hear him bellowing for companions as I walked up and down the road. He had to settle for human company, which I tried to provide on some of my walks. I miss him, even though I think he fancied me more for my sweat than for my occasional efforts at scratching his head and rubbing his ears. He would gallop (can a steer gallop?) over to where I would stand by the edge of the fence, if he saw me waiting there or if I called to him. Invariably, that long muscular tongue of his would emerge and reach out through the barbed wire fence in search of available salty flesh to lick. Still, apart from that proclivity (don’t we all have our peccadilloes?), he really was quite a charming steer. Now, in the golden hour on a Monday evening in July, his pasture is empty, and I am feeling a little empty, too.
That is a perfect description of how I feel today. My companion of 45 years passed on to higher ground several months ago and I am an empty pasture.
Jane, thank you for sharing these words and feelings. I contain within myself empty spaces where once were folks I loved dearly, particularly my father, who passed away a few years ago and left me bereft — a feeling that lingers still.