The sun was about to set on a mild autumn evening. Above, a stream of Starlings made their way from the farms in the west to the marshes in the east for the night, the twisting with a din of squawking. I and my lover, joined a few other couples wandering on the hillside meadow in a field of amber American marram grasses. There were a few asters scattered within the blades. We sat close to each other, embraced and kissed, but returned our gaze toward the distant bay with the approaching purple sky. The gentle breezes encourage the grass to perform a Ballett. I imagined an orchestra performing an opus of Pyotr Ilyich Tchaikovsky. When the purple terminator engulfed us, we shivered into a warm embrace. We agreed to make our way back home to the warm kitchen fire and a comforting cool-weather drink.
