A taste of the coming wet season came through in the night, lighting up the ridges with lightning and briefly drenching the hillsides. It left behind a heavy mist. We were awakened by the cries of a dying dinosaur, its death throes echoing eerily off the steep walls of the valley. Actually, it turned out to be a cow, giving birth. The fog transformed and amplified her lowing into a haunting evocation of Jurassic Park.
No milk for the coffee for a few days. The strands that weave life together here can be amazingly short and direct.