FOREST AND FIELD

Sometimes before the sun goes down there is nobody there save for the birds overhead and the frogs that hide near the ponds and the other flora and fauna. The walkers and the riders and even the nature enthusiasts have come earlier, and think of things like dinner at that time. That is a good time to go far out past the edge of the forest where the sandpit waits in the late and falling sun, a sun that will disperse itself and fall down soon enough over horizon lines and meadows, going to slumber behind trees and rocks and ridge ways. The little insects are hard at work, and the berries, not yet in full bloom or color, are waiting, poised, just being still in the air and the shards of sun that are left to mingle with the grasses and other feral plants. Breezes and winds have ceased. The sand is soft, the water tumbled rocks friendly. Dogs run and race, play and explore. The world there is a fine mix of golden and green, of silence and quiet song. It begins to tuck itself in under the thick and darkening sky for in time the constellations will blink on like electrical light, like a living dream, like some promise kept. 


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