The road is a mere corridor for my convenience. The moon is considered a feminine spirit by the native Indians. She is revered Grandmother. Briefly I had seen her soft smile over the valley. I wondered if it was the smile of amusement as she watched those below struggle against the forces of her daughter, Mother Earth.
Unbaled hay lies in saturated swaths, but crops rise high with well fed vigour.
Cattle, cold, but well grazed, and for now, content, chew their cud by transient moonlight. They have left the safe haven of their loafing sheds to lie beneath open sky. To me they seem merely mottled shadows placed randomly in verdant fields. When I arrived home, to the tumultuous greetings of my Cockers, who hurl themselves at me in great accord, I kneel and embrace each one. We retire to the sofa to finish watching the night sky together, but I have left Venus on her own and face another direction.