At the conclusion of our Dales Way walk my wife and I crossed a rough, open area, studded with rocks and brush but few trees. We saw no one about, farms were scarce, and cows roamed randomly in groups of six or less. When I passed this quartet I was attracted to the precision of their arrangement —we think of cows as dull, slow-witted creatures, but I walked on wondering how long these had waited specifically for a photographer to cross their field so they could take up their places. Haphazard? You tell me.
Listening For Thunder 