An older man grasps a yellow-gold tuba, facing a small wooden fence separating him from cowherd. Cows dot across the expansive field munching on wildgrass and clover. His cheeks puff out as low notes puncture the quiet air. Two cows– one mousy brown, the other brown-spotted, both with flickering ears, stop grinding on grass between their gum tissue and teeth to witness the bellowing of tuba. The man inhales again, cheeks popping like pufferfish. Other cows replicate music, marching towards the fenceline. Hooves trampling tall weeds. A trumpet joins playing short loud bursting staccato. A ding ding of cowbell. Cows watch man and man and brass and brass and high and low sounds sprout. A dozen or so big brown-black orb eyes digesting music. A banjo’s twangy fiddling notes float and drift, a clarinet belts the woodwinds yearning song. A man grips a trombone, arms punching the air, quick and lingering. By now, the band has hopped the fence to get closer to the herd. The cows and the band tilt and sway– their angular heads and bodies weaving with sounds of music. Melody, harmony, discordant, breath, note, sweet and human jazz. The song plays loud and long and unforgiving. The cows gaze towards the band, the band gazes towards the herd, each recognizing the music as something so very alive.