I don't know if I should call this little clip a poem or prose, but it started with pictures. Driving around the farm after nightfall, I was struck by the views my headlights created. In their sharp, golden cast, our familiar tobacco barn and hillsides took on an etheral quality.

Weeks later, as I looked at shots from that night, words and phrases began to trickle out. When paired with the images and a lovely tune from River Foxcroft, they formed a visual tribute to the wonder I see on our farm at night.