It was the morning glorywreathed around the jersey’shorns that turned you intoa vegetarian. The beast stoodthere in the green pasturelike some bovine Ophelia,brown, beautiful and tragic,trailing white flowers, green hearts.How could I ever eat you? youmurmured and made a pactwith the future never to do so. I, with my eyes on the traffic lights,missed the scene and the promise,being concerned with the moreimmediate future by depressingthe throttle and heading down the road. In any case, my c...
