As the blue sky fades and gives way to a grey flecked with golden hues, a dog barks in the distant valley. You hear the wind rustle through the trees, feel its breath across your arms and face, before it dies mid exhalation, replaced by a moment of absolute stillness. Then a sparrow chirps, other dogs begin to answer the persistent call of their brother across the hills, and the trees above break into a chorus of birdsong.
Somewhere on a distant road an old jeep grudgingly trundles up the winding road. You feel the breeze again and hear the distant banging of a wooden door. You crinkle your nose as you sense the sharp smell of smoke from a wood fire, from several wood fires, as the sun sinks behind the distant mountain and the chill spreads from your toes to the soles of your feet.
The hills darken and on every hill, across the valley and all the way towards the distant mountains, tiny points of golden light glimmer like fireflies. The sky turns purple, studded with thousands of diamonds. In the distance you hear thunder rumble, and know that sometime in the night the clouds will roll across from the valley.
It’s time to go inside.
Maybe there will be rain and sheets of lightning at night, but even if there isn’t there will be dew, drenching every blade of glass when you wake up. To a morning when the the sky is bluer than crystal and the air is crisper and sharper than a pine needle.
But let us speak of dawn in the hills another day...