The warm hay, all shadow and gold, gold and shadow, a rustling remnant of warm summer days but moist now, at the roots, where lingers an aroma of decay and turning soil. All Autumn and turning of seasons. It shivered and shimmered and huskily spoke of things long past. It stretched and pulled at things buried in my bones and in my trailing fingertips that knew their touch. But my heart, my heart though it was moved, and thudded painfully under their assault, knew not their song. They seemed strange, those unspoken things, intangible, mere impressions that traversed over my skin and under it, and left me bereft, grasping with a strangely laden heart. But for what? I gasped, I clutched, I laughed at something uttered by my companion. What? What was that? I could see her lips move but words were beyond me. Intent upon unraveling, I took a step. An infinitesimal second of wonder…whither would it land? Backward or forward? Where did I want it to? Forward ….or back? Forward into the magnificent russet sunset, or backward, where it was rising just beyond the hills, salmon pink and white gold, scattering shadows in its wake.