Trailhounds By Moonlight

I've just returned from the neighbouring village, walking across the fields late in the evening, past herds of somnolent cows, through the churchyard, and along the lane to the house where the Renaissance Couple live. Even at 11.00pm the eye could pick out colours: there was a sickle moon low in the sky, Venus, and a great band of orange and yellow above Criffel and the Mull of Galloway. And over my head an enormous sky arched into an ever deeper blue.
Something stirred in the lane: Ben the trailhound on one of his nightly jaunts. I called him into the yard and soon heard another voice echoing my own. The Renaissance Man was out searching for his hound. So we took a brief stroll together in his garden. Far off across the fields we could hear the sounds of dogs cavorting, and someone still making hay. We agreed, a propos of his 'TOGO' post, that on an evening like this, Cumbria at its very best, you really could almost live here . . .