For Paul Besley… — inspired by him, his writing, and a recent visit to Eel Tarn.
As the Sun also rises, so the Moon rests. Its waning glow, low in the mauve sky as it drew the Man here, has departed. But he still feeds off its allure as his pulse climbs, and he pauses, breathing hard, summoning support, as well as the air he so craves. He moves on to meet the dawn, pushing his body well beyond the valley-bound limits it frequently fights to meet. This race was too urgent to refuse, and all obstacles must be overcome, or sidelined.
Few creatures stir so early, the young calves so puzzled by his appearance that they cannot label him good nor bad, so regard him as both. Finally, they return to their cud-chewing amongst the muddy grass. Even after such a long absence of rain, some becks still happily feed the ground. The Man tracks this one eagerly; then turns from it to face down the radiant horizon.
