Rescue the lambs

07.52am (awake since 7am)

Its impossible to lie in. I wake and I am awake. I hear a guitar crashing to the floor in Syds room, luckily its undamaged and Syd is still sound asleep. I get up come downstairs clear up the detritus of yesterday. Put the kettle on make coffee, muesli with milk. I consider going out for a walk, its pretty grey and nothing but no rain. I sip the coffee, balance the computer on my lap. Occasionally a car passes on the main road. I look up at the hill, another car passes.

sheeplookingatme

She came right up to me in the field. She looked into my eyes. She seemed to smile. She fed her lambs from her breasts. She looked into my eyes. I stroked the top of her nose. I suspect she thought I had some food with me to give her. Why is she so friendly? Perhaps she was a hand reared lamb. She liked it when I stroked her nose. She trusted me when I got my camera out and took a photograph of her. She looked into my eyes. She checked that the lambs were ok. I stroked her nose and then she walked away. 

sheeplooktoleftsheeplookto right

I keep thinking of all the beautiful lambs and wish there was a way that I could lambnap them all to prevent them being taken away to slaughter. I could dress up as a large eagle swoop down and bundle each in my wings. Carry them away to safety, but there simply is no room in my back yard and animals are not allowed on my council allotment.

I would have to find a place to keep the rescued lambs

I would have to find something to do with them, apparently you can make cheese from sheep milk.

I would have to investigate how to make the cheese, how to keep the cheese, package it and sell it.

All I can think of are the lambs and their mothers, they preoccupy all my thoughts, there is not much time, the bleating on the hills will be replaced by the forlorn ba ba of the mother ewes wondering where their loved ones have gone.

The great vanishing.


Naoise is shouting me from the attic Mum, Mummy MUMMY

MUMMY

I hear his footsteps.


Sally Mann’s Exposure, What an artist captures, what a mother knows and what the public sees can be dangerously different things, The New York Times, 16th April 2015 


 

 

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