Harrah, Washington

Masked by the farming community's daytime bustle, the night presses forward in soft-paced steps, waiting. All day the valley has been filled with machinery's rumble and worker's chatter. Now, at day's end, the voices and machinery cool in the dusk and the busy rumble and chatter lower to a chugging murmur as they head for home.

Peeking out, birds arise, born on the setting sun's outstretched fingers. Pheasants, their shimmering, iridescent wings shining, take momentary flight and settle once again on the tilled ground. Sparrows chirp, tumbling into nests made of feathers and twigs, their fluffed bodies shaping a hollow for the night. A Killdeer cries out, moving fast and low against the ground and in the quietness a robin forages for a last minute meal. Poking his head in the ground the robin pulls up a fat, wriggling worm and in a flurry of feathers takes flight, spreading his wings in the lowering sun. Enfolded in the night's embrace the valley hums with new pleasure. Sights and smells known only to the darkness press forward.

Mint, gliding the darkly-tilled ground, spreads everywhere in sweet procession. Hop plants, strung with twine, show green in the lowering light and apple, pear, peach and cherry trees fill the valley with life. Irrigation ditches and canals carry sweet, life-giving water to the parched desert floor and stars hang overhead, suspended in the black, seamless cloth of night. Raspy-legged crickets and boom-throated frogs compete on the valley's outdoor stage as their songs bounce off the encircling sage-covered hills and echo in amphitheatre resonance.

Children's voices pierce the night. Friends and cousins alike, they have grown up in this valley, digging long streaks of white clay out of the local ditches and swimming in the green-blue depth of the canals. Barefooted and strong, they hurl themselves in the night's last games. Playing Kick-the-Can and No- Bears-Out-Tonight, they hide behind the broad, rough trunks of weeping willow trees, then spring out with a laugh and run for the base.

As dusk turns to night their competition slows and camaraderie settles in, each one glad for the other's voice and presence. Listening to the shoosh-shooshing of the neighbor's sprinkler system they fall into quiet reverie and comments are few.

All too soon, parent's call, some to bath and bed, the other to "getting home before you fall asleep." Tired, but happy, the children comply.

Much of the night is left, but the beds are comfortable and enfolded in God's grace, children and the valley sleep.

Joyce S

Submitted: Monday 9th February 2004, 1:25 PM

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