It's a quiet night on the ridge. Only one dog barking, two whippoorwills calling. My rooster crows uncertainly because it's dark and he knows he should be sleeping but the dog woke him up and because he's awake he must crow--it's what roosters are supposed to do, or so he must believe.
A small soft wind blowing from the east means rain on the way. It ruffles th windchimes and carries belltones across the ridge to echo against the hills.
In the bedroom my husband shifts in bed, grumbling in his sleep as he pulls the blankets up against the cool night air. A frog croaks down by the creek, but only once.
It's a quiet night on the ridge.
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