The moon was like a full cup tonight, too heavy, and sank in the mist soon after dark, leaving for light   faint stars and the silver leaves of milkweed beside the road, gleaming before my car.   Yet I like driving at night in summer and in Vermont: the brown road through the mist   of mountain-dark, among farms so quiet, and the roadside willows opening out where I saw   the cows. Always a shock to remember them there, those great breathings close in the dark.   I stopped, and took my flashlight to the pasture fence. They turned to me where they lay, sad     and … Continue reading Hayden Carruth