Driving Hillsboro

On weekday mornings, I drive my son to school. Driving south on Hillsboro Road from the central, residential neighborhood that has been our home, the landscape changes. After awhile, we are surrounded by fields and treelined driveways. We pass mansions and farms in equal measure. Not long before arriving at our destination, there is a field on the left side of the road, and in that field live two stunning longhorns, brown and white and speckled.

A local Nashville artist who shares my interest in meditative reflection,known for her whimsical paintings of cows, is joining me in 2016 in the project Driving Hillsboro: Sheryl Crow’s Longhorns, documenting a year in the lives of these majestic animals; rather, it is a school year in the lives of the passing humans. Stay tuned for updates and a blend of text and images.

 October 21st:

Sheryl Crow’s longhorns are leaning up into the new autumn light.

                                                 October 28th:

Sheryl Crow’s longhorns rest back-to-back in the wet grass at the far end of the pasture, oblivious to our human dreams.

                                                   October 30th:

Sheryl Crow’s longhorns are not in unison. While one stares elegantly across the road, the other participates in the harvest.

                                                      November 10th:

Sheryl Crow’s longhorns face away from the center, a different purpose for each. The larger plants his hoofs, challenging anyone or no one to cross the pasture; the smaller nuzzles the one, sweet remaining pumpkin of autumn.

                                                       November 11th:
Sheryl Crow’s longhorns realize there is a sunline between them. They don’t perceive this as separateness, as detachment. It is only light and shadow.

                                                   November 18th:
Sheryl Crow’s longhorns huddle under the tree at the center of the universe. Today’s downpour will steal the last of the leaves and leave them open to a winter sky.

                                                    November 22nd:
The cars stream past Sheryl Crow’s longhorns in the morning, the people inside on their way to strict Christian churches, to freewheeling chapels for the semibelievers. Yet the longhorns see it their way: their church is a choir of green and blue and brown, a transparency enveloping the senses.