The plains and mountains are dark. The mountains carve their shapes from shadows and moonlight. The nearer ridge-line ruffled with spiky Pinõn Pine and the farther peaks spiked with Lodgepole that march into the ragged snowfields. In the moonlight the dark earth against the snow resembles pits and the snow reflects brightness against the deep blue-black night sky.
The stars fill the sky as though a sparkling coverlet was tossed over midnight to keep the chill away. Brighter than those near a city, these stars razor through the air with ancient light. The sky should be lighter given their brilliance but remains resolutely, darkly shadowed by earth.
A wind begins, not as a light breeze that teases, but in short, sharp gusts kicking up road-dirt and rattling the ropes tied to the tallest branches of the pines surrounding the house. Blowing cold bursts through a warmer night, sending sand and small pebbles rolling down the road while the trees sway in ever-widening arcs forward and back. Trees waving at Sky.
