There are few things in my life that I love more than driving around in the last minutes of daylight, looking for the uncoutable ways in which the light plays, fades and changes. Often, I say to Maria, I wish I had stopped back there at those hay wagons, and she will say, do you want to turn around. No, I always say. I don’t go back. The light will be different, the moment lost. Besides, there will be something good on ahead. And usually, there is. I caught the sun just as it was dipping below a mountain, and caressing Sheldon Road, at it’s last darkening bend.