BEYOND THE REALM OF WEATHER 207 



tones of olive brown, dull almost to harshness, 

 holding themselves stiffly against the great 

 wind, yielding only at their delicate tips 

 when the gusts came, recovering again in the 

 lulls, to point dauntlessly skyward. The nar 

 row boundary ditches, already glassing over 

 in the sudden cold, stretched away in rigid 

 lines, flashing back the light of the sky in 

 shivers of gold. The haystacks reiterated the 

 color notes gold on their sunset side, deep 

 brown on their shadowed one. 



There is a moment sometimes, just at sun 

 down, when the quality of light changes. It 

 does not fall upon the world from without, it 

 radiates from within. Things seem self-lum 

 inous. Yet, for all their brightness, we see 

 them less clearly, one s vision is dazzled, 

 enmeshed. It is the time when that wondrous 

 old word &quot; faerie&quot; finds its meaning. It is a 

 magic moment. It laid its spell upon us. 



Jonathan emerged first, bracing himself. 

 &quot;It will shut down soon. We haven t a 

 minute to spare. We ought to be on the creek 



now.&quot; 



It was hard to believe that such brightness 

 could ever shut down. But it did. By the time 



