Art is ‘Bovinaphim’ by Samir Sirk Morató. Used with permission of the artist.
We point at a field of cows as we pass and say “Cows,” for as everyone knows, the bovine population has a deal with all travelers.
We miss one field, though, lost in thought about our to-do list, and a deep, unsettled sense stacks in our rearview mirror.
The cows gather.
A tail flicks a fly. An unblinking thing—not an eye, just a watching body—replaces the sun. It is the accumulation of object permanence dysfunction; as cows exist only in our lines of sight, and when they are not, they simply build emotion. We sense its growth, its herd of one, but not in the way it longs for.
And then, we look behind us. There is a passing car, and we check there is enough room. The abomination looms over us, made of wandering hooves, seven stomachs multiplied to hundreds, and thousands of grinding teeth. It is omnivorous and lows in abject misery: “What are we?”
“Cows,” we whisper.
The monstrosity deflates, and detangles, and becomes a field of cows once more.
