It is a charcoal sketch of a day. A black swirl of starlings -one mind, one pulse, swing, turn, dart -harmony, music for the eyes. Sunflowers bend under the weight of their seeds -a golden splash in this orphaned day. The fields, one newly mown another fresh and black from the plow raise the scent of musk, perfume the air with the fragrance of earth. Down the pasture sheep chew seemingly absent minded. Midges and flies raise a dust storm over twitching ears and flicking tails. As the shepherd swings the gate open he whistles “The Shepherd’s Song”. Our dogs take it all in through the maw of their senses as they glide through the vale and move sheep over the swells. I can only go on naming one thing after another…barn, crow, deer, fence…, as if peering through cracks in a wall.