Life Among the Pastures

Dear Gregory

There are many fishes in the sea, Greg. That's what I learned after so many relationships in life. It's hard work and laborious. We were shooting the first few scenes in a farm and I couldn't help but cock my head out the window to see those familiar pastures again. After the shooting ended, I hung around the barn and rested my bottom on thorny hays and slipped a straw of Starbucks coffee into my mouth. There were cows in the barn that were locked away during the shooting. When I tried to talk to them, they only gave me pensive stares and I felt a little embarrassed. Well, that wasn't the case back at the pastures.

After the old man invited us in, I found my foot submerged in shredded skins of wood as some decided to drift with the meadowy breeze. The white skins of wood swept in the air like dandelions, letting the small breeze guide them. In the corner piled some severed lumber and knick knacks of wood carvings were displayed on the wooden shelves. It was as if the old man built every intricate part of the house on his own. There was a hook rack of wooden cowbells engraved with names. The only non-wooden material was a small stool in the corner with tools, ranging from saws to swis-army knives, littered beside it in such disgrace as if the disarray disregarded any visitor's presence. The scenery of the house roared an uninviting aura.

He hung the rusty musket on the wall and invited us to the small dining room, where a head of a beheaded wolf was nailed to the wall and stalked us at the dining table. He ran into the kitchen and came out with two mugs of finely brewed tea.

"I don't get visitors that much." the old man said. "So I don't do a lot of clean'in, so don't mind here being messy."

You rested your guitar case next to the dining stool and took sniffs compelled by some skepticism you still had about. Honestly, I felt a little uncomfortable as well, but the old man had a bright round face with cheeks that dyed a warming red, making him a humble and jolly old man that doesn't seem capable of acting out any hostility.
"Don't worry. I didn't put poison in it." the old man joked. After he said that, you leaned in for a sip and I copied.

"Do you know where we are?" you asked. "Do you know how we could get back?"

"I've never had humans come here."

We shot him a confused look.

"Aren't you a human?" I retorted.

He let out a cackling laugh.

"No....not really."

"Santa Claus?" you asked and the burbling tea in my mouth almost exploded out everywhere.

"I get that a lot."

"From who?" I asked.

"The cows."

"You talk to cows?"

"Not all the time. Only when they feel like talking."

You and I both shot each other uneasy glances in compromise that the old man was a little odd.

"I'm serious," he said. "The cows do talk here."

He staggered up from his seat and patted his pants. "Come", he ushered us and hunched over in the direction of the doorway. Once outside, we were greeted by the earthy fragrance and a couple mooing from a short distance. A herd of cows, flapping its tails in synchrony, trotted to us with the clanking wood of cowbells strangled around their necks. Each ran patterns of black and white across their skins like colorless movies I was usually fond of. One in front of me wore a cowbell titled "Liam Fertis". Their black ears fluttered as if they were trying to catch the words out of the old man's mouth.
"This is Liam. He's one of the oldest around here."

"Very nice to meet you." It said and astonishment didn't hit me while my brain struggled to process what was going on. The rubbery black lips of the cow didn't move, but I could hear him.

"That was some very nice music back there that one of ya just played", Liam said impassively with no connotation of appreciation behind those words. It feels as if I was hearing their thoughts and was being communicated with my voice. All I heard was my own voice that was speaking through me from the cow. "It's been a while since somebody played a good tune on that piano."

"Holy shit!" I exclaimed and twisted my neck to face you standing behind me. "The cows could talk, Greg! Are you hearing this?"

"What are you talking about?" you hissed back.

"The cows! They could talk!"

And that was when I realized that you couldn't hear them.