February leans into March
March edges toward April

And then—
they arrive first in our ears

bells, jingle jangling
something in us perks

They’re coming.

We listen before we see

And then—
there they are

a never-still line
silhouettes along the hilltop

munching their way forward
through the fresh green
January laid out for them

ambling down the hill

 they weave through still blooming

 yellow mimosa

slow
steady
inevitable

Until they turn

and begin the long saunter
up our driveway

the whole herd
eyes on the field
and on us

jingle jangling
as they draw near

Antonio at the back
calling out
in a language meant only for them
urging, guiding, coaxing

And just like that—
they’re here

the whole herd
gathering
drawing the field into a kind of circle

held by a single thin wire
as if by agreement more than fence

Last year,
within hours of arriving

one slipped from the herd

Mama stood
the others circling
close, but giving space
present
as they went on munching

we stood there too
just inside the single wire

and then—

the calf
slowly appearing
dangling for a moment
between worlds

before dropping
to the ground

Antonio—
suddenly all joy
bounding toward them

and the licking
and licking
and licking

until the small body
glistened into being

nudging her
urging her

up

the effort of it
legs unsure
wobble
fall

again

until finally—
hands beneath her
steadying

a brief human kindness

and then

she stood

their bells
ring us to sleep
ring us into morning

we wake to them
we move with them

until their low-hung bellies
tell us
they’ve had their fill

 as if time itself

 has loosened its grip

 till the cows come home