Dusk

 

Mike was in the back field with the dogs (their nightly 8pm-ish walk), and I decided to step outside to see how dusk would greet me. What had been a typically hot and muggy July day, had given way to a beautifully pleasant evening. I could still feel the humidity in the air and on my skin, but there was a coolness that could be felt, riding in on the slightest of breezes - SO slight that you really had to be paying attention to notice, and I was. And in that breeze, I could smell the grass, the clover, and someone's late, summer dinner cooking on a grill. 

As I watched the sun give way to the moon, I was thinking there might be a chance for a dramatic looking sunset. I could see some pale shades of pink, and perhaps some yellow and orange forming, like an artist just beginning to add paint to paper, no vision in mind yet of what it might become. And the sound of a farmer’s tractor could be heard in the adjacent field, using up every moment of sunlight to complete the day’s work. 

Like someone turning down the dimmer switch, the sky grew darker. The artist must have decided to give it a go another day. There was no dramatic sunset, but still lovely, nonetheless. And now the focus was on the moon.

Hanging to the left of me, there was a soft but noticeable aura around it, likely from air pollution, though I prefer to think not. And it looked, well, there is no poetic way of saying this, as if the moon was made out of gelatin, and someone had squeezed it slightly between a forefinger and a thumb, one side still looking rounded, the other slightly concave. 

As the sky grew darker still, I noticed the fireflies had come out to perform their show. I noticed them mostly in the taller grasses behind our house, where the birds and the bees and the butterflies also prefer to be. I watched them play for a while, then noticed the silence. The sound of the farmer’s tractor had gone away - his workday had ended. Evening had turned to night. And riding in on that slightest of breezes was the scent of a different type of grass in the air.

The Squirrel

 A squirrel just came to visit.

If you live in the suburbs, with trees all around, this may not seem like a big deal, but I live in a house that is surrounded by farmland. We have foxes and deer, and an abundance of groundhogs and rabbits. And though we don’t often see them, our terrier sniffs and scratches at the ground, his canine senses convinced there is a field mouse or a mole just beneath the surface. We can hear coyotes serenading at nighttime and have seen evidence of the occasional black bear. Frogs and toads often show up at our doorstep, and we have spotted a turtle here and there, both boxing and snapping. There are birds of all kinds - birds of prey, including vultures, hawks, eagles and owls. The smaller birds list goes on and on, including sparrows, bluebirds, swallows (including purple marlins), mockingbirds, and much, much more. There are also ducks and geese in the local pond. And of course, the neighboring chickens, pigs and cows.

But I rarely see a squirrel.

She must have come from around the corner. I heard a slight noise as she hopped onto the pebble-covered patio edge, just a few feet from where I was sitting. She sat up and looked at me, in that adorable way that squirrels do, and as I was thinking the same thing, she seemed to be saying, “Oh! I wasn’t expecting you!” 

She paused for a moment, deciding what to do, and as I said, “Hello!” she quickly turned and ran from whence she came. Likely, back to her home somewhere off in the distant tree line, or perhaps over to one of the neighbor’s gardens to scrounge up some treasure for lunch.