Tonight the north wind is a cat claw wind scratching cold into the soul but even so Maurice insists on walking with Her through the dark.
Cold stars shine down in a deep darkness as the sliver of new moon, silver in the blue of early night has already run off to chase the sun.
The dogs bark, noisy, at a person out too late and across the fields Fred joins them. Others follow in an angry chorus. But Maurice walks quietly and surely on.
The night belongs to him.
Inside we all curl by the amber bright burning warm and we wonder, will we have snow?