Relative Something

As I was out with Asher last night for his last walk of the day, it occurred to me that we aren’t outside after dark very often in the summer. In the winter, we are out in the dark every day. 

When we made a stop at the barn in the middle of the day, I was struck by how quiet it was. No bird sounds, no passing airplanes, no automobile traffic, no rifle reports from hunters aligning their scopes, no chainsaws, no lawn mowers.

Our neighbor to the south was mowing his lawn earlier in the day.

When it is quiet here, it can seem remarkably quiet. 

While we were feeding the horses in the morning, I heard a strange sound overhead and looked up to see two sandhill cranes whooshing by just above the treetops.

In the evening darkness, we stopped by the barn to retrieve the empty feed buckets. Suddenly, a chorus of coyote yelps erupted from not far beyond our road. Since it was dark, I had Asher tethered by a leash, which saved me from worrying he would take off after them. 

Actually, I’m not sure whether he would head toward the sounds or run away from them.

Earlier, as we were returning to the house after feeding the horses, a large doe and an even larger buck startled in the neighboring woods, and Asher sprinted down our trail in the same direction without hesitation. I resorted to using his e-collar to ensure he adhered to my commands to abort the chase.

Ironically, after the striking quiet during the afternoon, the evening darkness was roaring with the droning hum of a combine harvester working a field just beyond the woods to our west. In the absence of tree leaves, the sound seemed like it was coming from our backyard.

I suspect the farmer may have a day job to make ends meet and couldn’t get to the harvesting until after it was dark out.