In my previous life, I believe I was a cow.
So this is a step up, really. I get to vote for one candidate or anudder, listen to mooooooosic, watch TV eating chocolate digestives or cheese-and-onion quiche – luxuries unavailable to me, as a cow.
And I get to talk. Woah…talk! What shall I say? What would someone say, who had recently been a cow?
I rather miss my field, particularly the nice juicy bits between the thistles. And the green. This place now is not-green, and there’s stuff careering about hoooooooting at me. I seem to be in the middle of… what is this? A not-field, with high-things, and zooming-items.
Those sheep in the next door field. I quite liked them. Wonder where they all are now, those sheep? Have they all moved on to their next existences or are some of them still there, still wandering about in white woolly bunches, sheltering by the hedge when rain’s on the way, checking out the clouds for smiley angel faces. Yes, I miss those little ol’ sheep.
And only one stomach; that’s not so good. Should I consume a plethora of pizzas or – less likely, I grant – a surfeit of lampreys, where am I going to put them? Where’s my storage?
Moooooovement seems to be fluid, though somewhat vertiginous. Could have done with another leg or two. Stabilisers, as it were. No doubt I’ll get used to it.
Now, where would someone walk, in this brave moooooo world of mine?
(Don’t ask me – I just started writing and…out it came)