Sunday, March 28, 2010


Beneath my back the ground is cool, even through my many layers of clothes. Winter crop is smothered beneath my body. I can feel every ridge and valley of the rows. Above me the sky is a soft, velvety black. The moon is just past waxing crescent. Stars sprinkle across the sky like fairy dust. My eyes wander the sky and along the edge of my vision I can see the top of the tree line edging the field I lie in. Topping the trees, most of the spindly limbs that reach for the moon are bare of leaves. I turn my head and see next to me others resting along side, waiting for the call. Once more I gaze upwards, ever in awe of the beauty. In the distance the hounds bay; the call has been heard. We rise, family and friends, from the cold ground and begin trekking towards the call.

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