It was a cool September night. The wind kissed my neck and cheek bones, sending chills down my spine and body each time it blew. The air was fresh with tree breath and crisp in a way that only the northern world can be. The sky was flooded with starlight and a full moon had risen, orange in tint. It loomed, massive in comparison to its usual measure. In the valley below mist floated over dewy paddocks, illuminated evermore by the rising orb reflective of sunlight. This glowing white fog layered itself between low bushes and wild flowers, building itself up like mineral spirits mixed with oil paint on a black canvas.