Last night the moon was full, and apparently it was one of those nights when an optical illusion made the rising moon look vast, vast enough to be hovering over the earth. But I didn't get to see it. Tonight, I rounded up a little crew, and we rambled into a nearby field, hoping to see something of a reprise. We arrived and waited, bundled up in our jackets and scarves (have I mentioned how cold it is here?), and we waited, until someone spotted a lightening in the southeast. And then we waited for a few more minutes, and then there it was--large (though not optical-illusion-huge) and gold and swathed in thin clouds. I had taken my monopod, but I needed a tripod for this one. Everything I got is just plain impressionistic. Just before we left the field, something small began chirping along the ground not far from us.
In a night field all one's companions grow smaller. You don't even have to walk very far away to experience this.
Today in the market: stall after stall of fruits and more fruits. I came home with enough to make four bowls full of redness on my kitchen counter: tomatoes, cherries, raspberries, strawberries. I will feast for breakfast.
And now their cows are back. These cows must be the happiest cows in the universe. Just look at this one's hairdo--and his "I can't believe I found grass this good" blissed out face. That field is the cows' version of my college.