There is tenderness in his face, a gentle curiosity.
We could fill great buckets with his breath -
grassy lungfuls streaming out into the cool air.
Then the noise of my camera spooks him,
and he moves quickly, violently towards the hedgerow,
a skeletal, threadbare veil between us.
Soon there are thirty young bullocks,
jittery, huge, jostling for position,
watching our shadows trail away downhill,
unease hastening our steps.