I am up again tonight, watching the moon travel across the top of my window. At midnight, it will come in view. By six, it will be waning over the trees. By six-thirty, obscured by its sister the sun, coming up to cast pink on the land and orange on the sky, making the fields and the frozen lake glow. Then it will keep sinking, still visible to anyone who cares to cast their eyes west. We have this worked out, the moon and I.

It's been a series of beautiful days. The sun knifing, the wind insistent.