The night scents fill the garden. Roses, moths, the path of bats across the sky. The wind is warm and from the west and the half moon shines, bone white, silvering a thin veil of cloud. The short night is for the owls, but soon the hawks will fill the air and raven will tumble the sky in their joyful flight. Over the gorse where now they sleep the linnets will sing, and stone chats will chip away at the day.
Across the fields a distant dog barks lonely.
Elmo sleeps with his head tucked safe between his paws.