Too short.
Of course.
************
(okay, that was a bit of a cop-out. I love short books and short reviews.)
I liked that she just captured the serenity of cow-gazing. Gazing at cows, being gazed at by cows.
It is all very in the moment, "mindfulness" I think is the current term. It was a literary equivalent of a prescriptive nature exposure -- being out 'in nature', such as a park etc., for even just a few minutes a day, is good for the mental health.
It was a good and restful piece to read at lunchtime in the office.
It reminds one that just zoning out and enjoying our surroundings is something to do more often. ( )

Another absolutely precise exercise in writing and observation, this time on an intentionally undramatic subject, three cows across the street from Davis's house. For me, the interest is in observing the faint ghosts of other kinds of writing hovering around the nearly clean skeletons of her descriptions. A touch of surrealism, of animal rights, of detective stories, of transcendentalism... no paragraph is pure in the sense that a haiku can appear pure. (Appear, not be.)

I am not as happy with the pictures, simply because they are too loosely correlated with the text. Why can't a writer as exacting as Davis demand the same of her images? On a page where the prose insists that she sees the cows only from a great distance and through a restricted angle of view, we get a photo of cows taken from the edge of their pasture. The difference is not made into a theme, either in the text (which doesn't acknowledge the viewpoint of the photos), or in the photos (which shift without rhyme or reason from telephoto to close-up). It makes images seem weak: it appears it's not right to request too much of them. I think the opposite. ( )