It begins slowly, caught up in the hot oranges of the nautical twilight (Extra 1), low to the horizon, gradually expanding heaven-ward, rippling finely as it grows.
Behind me, the almost full moon lights my footsteps as I walk through the field.
Soon it is flowing the length of the bay (Extra 2), casting shimmering silvery blue onto the still water.
In the distance, down below on the shore, I can hear Oystercatchers and the tiny shrill call of another bird I cannot name, but otherwise the night air is silent and fresh.
All ready for shearing tomorrow.