Sometimes she hears the twilight call to her. Sometimes the breeze in the tree tops whispers her name out loud. "Come outside," it says to her. "Come outside and watch as the Creator folds up the day and puts it away."
She looks at the kitchen clock and it is 6:00 PM. It's time for chores. She makes up the bottle of warm milk for her little bucket calf, and walks out the back door and to the grain shed. There she gets the pallets, shuts the door and walks slowly to the barn.
She is in a world of her own. She is noticing. She is watching as the Kansas skies become a picture perfect sight before her eyes. She listens as the last call of the wild comes to her ears. She is at peace, inside and out. She is enjoying her world.
Over in the western skies, just beyond the huge cottonwoods, the painter has picked up His brush and dipped it first in a slate blue. Then He has so gracefully dipped it again into a light pink and swiped over the blue very softly. All this color, behind those huge cottonwoods, make them look as if they are black in color. She can just make out the shape of the old windmill standing there so still in front of those dark shapes of the cottonwoods.
Just above the tips of the trees, it appeared as if the painter took His brush and so gently swiped a small amount of bright pink into the light blue sky. He colored those little puffs of clouds with the setting sun. As she watches those little puffs of pink, they change to a dark blue and then disappear all together, fading out into the slate blue of the horizon.
She walks out into the pasture beyond the trees. There where the ground meets the sky was a sight that took her breath away. Running along the top of the pasture hill, she made out the silhouette of a barb wire fence held up by some ole hedge post. Some of the post were bent to the north and some stood straight. Behind the fence, her Painter had took up His brush and dipped it in a royal orange and pink and had colored the low horizon, making that barb wire fence look like a palace. She just stood there looking. She couldn't move.
Then from somewhere over that hill came the call of a single coyote. A lone call drifting off into the quiet of the twilight. Then all was still once again.
As she made her way back past the barn and machine shed, she could see through the bare branches of the cottonwoods, the moon hanging there, as if it was hanging from an invisible string. Hanging there in that dark blue beyond. She watched as it climbed higher into the heavens and the western skies gave way to its soft gentle light.
With the chores done, she sat on the back porch and looked off to the east. She watched as the moon climbed above the cottonwoods and threw its rays out over the universe. The trees turned to a dark silhouette and she could make out their shadows laying softly on the ground.
It was so quiet there in the porch. It was as if you didn't dare breath. And then out in the pasture somewhere beyond the cottonwoods, the coyotes called to her once more. She just sat there....listening as the moonlight fell gently around her, making her very being full of gratitude.
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