tell her about all the things we used to do.
You'll always remember me when you think
about old times, won't you? And I guess
everybody thinks about old times, even the
happiest people."

As we walked homeward across the fields,
the sun dropped and lay like a great golden
globe in the low west. While it hung there,
the moon rose in the east, as big as a cart-
wheel, pale silver and streaked with rose
color, thin as a bubble or a ghost-moon.
For five, perhaps ten minutes, the two lumi-
naries confronted each other across the level
land, resting on opposite edges of the world.
In that singular light every little tree and
shock of wheat, every sunflower stalk and
clump of snow-on-the-mountain, drew itself
up high and pointed; the very clods and fur-
rows in the fields seemed to stand up sharply.
I felt the old pull of the earth, the solemn
magic that comes out of those fields at night-
fall. I wished I could be a little boy again,
and that my way could end there.

We reached the edge of the field, where our
ways parted. I took her hands and held them
against my breast, feeling once more how
strong and warm and good they were, those

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