This is what I feel bereft of most, in the paling evenings of a college day. Damp spreads over grass, no car squeal sullies my night, and the gloamed moon filters dreaming light through thick clouds, giving illumination and glow to all I can drift towards and take with my eyes. My parents lie peaceful in their habitual places, as do neighbors, nearly all family as far as the eye can grip. True Appalachain dark holds sway outside, held at bay with a few hairs' breadths of glass - one light, large yet shadowed, rests in the yard of an uncle, far up the turning road. The sky is as a milken sea, the ridge of trees a ragged shore with the tides of star and shadow playing havoc with their reaching tips. This is peace, and Wheldrake's misty Tanalorn. O, the fields we know are played through with the stealthy knowledge of our dreams, and are strengthened.