Day 18: I have bought the cow

I don't always know
how to live here.
Brick and mortar
roots itself deep in
the tiny town square
with the bench I love,
and the garden.
I have bought the cow,
the cow that must be milked,
that calls me home at sunset
every night.
I remember the mountains,
teetering under neon signs.
I remember the handful of
shells in the bottom of my bag.
I look for other windows,
other views;
but this one smells like coffee and
holds my hand,
and the roots descend...