litlover
10-01-2005, 03:05 PM
Twice a day the little herd paraded, quiet as a funeral, past the house. The bones of their hindquarters flexed on skin glistening with subtle movement; each step a fascinating mobile of articulated grandeur. Veins on swaying udders shone blue as rivers on a map. A liquid slap of clap on tarmac punctuated their steady gait.
Sean, the herdsman, flailed the air with his rude stick, signifying his command of the lumbering column.
'Gerrow,'
'Whaa, there.'
These nonsense words, like the useless stick, implied authority. His charges, pink tongues poking at wet nostrils, ignored the timid words and plodded on, flanks twitching. Soft moos anticipated the relief of milking.
He was the skinny, unsmiling, son of the farmer. When he spoke, which wasn't often, a palate defect gave his words a nasal airiness. We burlesqued his thin sound with our high voices.
'Splahh ow that.'
'Snarr. Snam, there.'
'S' words, ventilated through our noses, echoed Sean's fricative difficulties.
'Nnfock off,' he'd shout. His temper failed to spike the air, his roar soft as wind through whin.
He shouted again, swishing his stick at a loose stone. His voice trailed off as though realising we relished the sound of his broken ranting.
'Nnfock off, Shnon', we'd bellow from our gorse green hideaway.
'Ssnake them ncows home, an' nnfock off yourself.'
One day, a silent aloofness greeted our shouts, spoiled the game. Our unfunny impersonations ceased. Cast down silences marked his triumph and our shame.
Afterwards, only the pleasant plock of hoof on tarmac accompanied his quiet toil.
Sean, the herdsman, flailed the air with his rude stick, signifying his command of the lumbering column.
'Gerrow,'
'Whaa, there.'
These nonsense words, like the useless stick, implied authority. His charges, pink tongues poking at wet nostrils, ignored the timid words and plodded on, flanks twitching. Soft moos anticipated the relief of milking.
He was the skinny, unsmiling, son of the farmer. When he spoke, which wasn't often, a palate defect gave his words a nasal airiness. We burlesqued his thin sound with our high voices.
'Splahh ow that.'
'Snarr. Snam, there.'
'S' words, ventilated through our noses, echoed Sean's fricative difficulties.
'Nnfock off,' he'd shout. His temper failed to spike the air, his roar soft as wind through whin.
He shouted again, swishing his stick at a loose stone. His voice trailed off as though realising we relished the sound of his broken ranting.
'Nnfock off, Shnon', we'd bellow from our gorse green hideaway.
'Ssnake them ncows home, an' nnfock off yourself.'
One day, a silent aloofness greeted our shouts, spoiled the game. Our unfunny impersonations ceased. Cast down silences marked his triumph and our shame.
Afterwards, only the pleasant plock of hoof on tarmac accompanied his quiet toil.