Cooking smoke swirls on the roofs of farmhouses, and then fades away as it scatters in the haze of the sky. Slowly, the fields became quieter, the surroundings blurred, and the sunlight gradually receded. I knew that the twilight was passing and that night was coming down from the sky. I could see the vast expanse of the land bared its solid chest, a gesture of calling. Just as women call their children, the land calls the night to come. Read more