Cricket songs took the lead in dawns of dew and September-cool. Stands of the summer weeds in pastures progressed to autumn-death and the cool season pastures underneath, one thought would choke away, began again to grow; mystery of symbiosis—shadow and shade of the cover weeds what saved it from drought and summer’s fire. One season moved into the next, natural and slow as in nature’s way of a “normal” year that never seemed as so. He opened a gate to shade less paddock where foxtail grew high and in head—still in nutrition but heavy in seed so that its forage and cover would restore in bounty again.
He listened to the cricket songs, sun breaking bright and warm through cloud as few faintened upon grass and pasture’s stand. He took it in, observing with sense the subtle and small—fine details of a “normal” year that never seemed as so.