Monday, November 04, 2019

10___2019_\::ref_ff::/["the hedgerow yonder"]


At daybreak the grazing cows in the half-flooded field out along the Yare there gorged hungrily on the tall grasses and nettles. For a moment I would be lost in the sound of the tearing foliage. Several large calves watched their mothers reach their huge heads over the barbed wire for richer fodder. Their eyes were beautiful as I passed. Across the field were a handful of hooded figures slowly walking in carefully picked steps, heads bowed towards the sodden grass, as though seeking. They on occasion bent and lowered, their fingers sunk in the scrub then raised for inspection. There was a fungal prevalence in such damp earth, the paths about lined with earthball, inkcap, earth star, shaggy parasol, and, no stranger to such measures, I presumed them to be on the forage for vision and transcendence, for what might bring the hooded young forth for chill autumn daybreak but the promise of revelation. Each carried a small receptacle and every few minutes would place their plunder therein as good fortune permitted. I continued on towards work, for I was already running behind, and had hoped to myself forage a food bag full of plump scarlet haws, such was the season, some pound or so for catsup, and so left them undisturbed in their endeavours. When I made my return some hours later, as evening drew, sky darkened by cloud and drizzle, I saw again the figures across the field. The largest of the cows, a Hereford brute, was beheaded some yards from the fence area, head carved off with a gleaming machete, offal and viscera shaken out to the floor in a steaming pile of slop and part. One of the hooded figures was themselves clad in the cows head, worn as a grotesque masque of a sort completely atop his own, and he danced rhythmically around the body of the beast, that stood still 'pon all four feet, great steam rising from the severed neckline, a muffled chanting bleating from the cavity inside and audible only as texture. The remaining figures were in turn copulating with the carcass, sunk in its tract with utter abandon until they juddered to the floor, piled by its vast death. The remaining cows stood close together beneath the trees across the field and made not a sound, only watched. The cow-headed figure saw me and raised his hands in a complex interlocked gesture that appeared arcane.  There were viscid strings of blood dripping from grass blades, a sweet smell, the tang of dung. There were ambulance sirens around the hospital. The cows body finally fell, supine, its four legs out stiff and straight, its cunt slick. I raised a hand in response with the haws clutched therein.



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