To Know and Not To Know

To know and not know. Red moss, crimson blood of a slaughtered calf I knew seen it before but could not recall where and when. Like seeing a landscape painting in a valley of cobblers where children ran barefoot on summer grass and scents of wildflowers. Unpasteurized milk had laughter in the breeze I know this to be true but do not know why. I think of raindeers, will they eat red moss used as they are of the grey variety? The sun keeps shining like a Spanish orange so full of juice ready to burst. The good earth is dry waits for rain, plenty the red moss is forgotten as a love affair if I sit still enough, perhaps I will remember