BigHart BigHart

Standing Outside


The. Acoustic. Shed.

The worn-out gravel in the distance cracks like fireworks beneath the dusty ute tires.  A thick cloud of dust trails behind it.

Cool spray from the washed tractor sprinkles on my skin.

There are calves to my left. Skinny. Their newborn hair glistens, like dew, on their backs.

The calves wobble clumsily to where I’m standing. They stretch their necks out far and begin mooing for some milk.

Metal chain clinks against the corrugated structure.

I t s l o u d.

In the distance, the calves’ mothers trail one another like ants over the hunter green fields.

In front of me stands the calves’ grandfather, mentor, home.


The. Calving. Shed.


The sounds outside dim, and a soft wind escapes through the worn-out metal walls.

My feet scruff the sawdust floor and tiny fragments get caught in my socks.

The clear plastic at the top of the shed has a tangled mess of old cobwebs that- when the orange light from the sun comes through- creates a net-like pattern along the dregs.

Generations of cows and farmers have been inside here.

It is empty, but feels pregnant with stories.

Author: Ginger Lavis
Written as part of the Acoustic Life of Sheds 2017



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