65F in January with the setting sun spinning webs of golden yellow, pink and azure, the blue of Titian. A rhythmic, fluid spin rise and fall of the terrain. A smile, a nod, a "Hey!", and occasionally a "Whoa!" as the darkness melted into the black wool. Red cap. Grunt, breath, rocking rhythmic machine as quiet as a night breeze.
Pondero ponders too. Tonight I understand.