Silver-blue and deep gray drifts of cloud soften the bright moon, now escaped from the tangled woods. The late sun was made moderate as well, veiled by this gathering aerial damp which evening light then gilded and, finally, set aflame. The mild air now tingles with the promise of rain. The birds, having enjoyed their frolic through temperate days, now settle into sleep with a final rustling of bushes that, sometime soon, will resound with the beat of raindrops. The green landscape is darkened out of color, and all attention is called to that slow tumult of sky where moon and clouds and wind collaborate on a motile painting composed of dust and water and light, the prelude to some drama as ancient as matter itself, but always newly formed. I must watch.