She sits on the porch in the fading light of sunset, a mug of coffee cradled in her hand. She knows it may possibly be too late for coffee but she cares not. The scent of coffee sparks her soul. The darkness draws closer and she looks out over the fields to enjoy the golden softness of the heads of grain before the curtain falls. It is good to rest this night. Her muscles are slowly untensing after the long day walking to and fro and hither and yon. A hot shower will be most welcome shortly, but not yet. Firstly the sunset must be enjoyed for the moment is not to be missed on a night such as this. The yellow light slowly turns to orange and threatens red as the sun slips ever further down the curve of the prairie sky. The clouds hug the horizon promising her very favourite type of sunset, the type where the garments of the heavens drape loosely about its frame. All the better to showcase the breathtaking beauty that is ever present but only rarely shyly seen. But enough of the sunset chatter, she thinks to herself as she breathes deep. She brings her other hand up to the coffee mug and she drinks. The wind blows across the treeless pastures and causes her to shiver. The sun winks and is gone. She lets herself sit a moment or two longer, slowly rocking back and forth in her chair. She plays a finger through her hair about her ear and considers. The thick book on the table next to her calls her name. But first, hot shower and cozy pajamas and then back on the porch to curl up with aforesaid book and a tall glass of something cold and dark. And she may even light a candle. It’s that type of night, a night for the prolonging of the beautiful and a lingering in the light. But first she must move her tired muscles. She slowly rises and turns to the house. Her hand on the doorknob, she looks back one more time to take a mental photograph of the way the porch railing silhouettes against the twilight. The night is not yet over, she promises herself. But now, shower time.