I am enthralled by the darkness and the sounds of the night, the soft shift of the dry September dirt under my bare feet and the cold burn of the stars above. Three dogs explore these moments with me, led by their noses through a shared world similar to mine. A moth shivers across my arm and I follow the flutters shortly out of sight. Over my shoulder, light pours out of my kitchen window, around a silhouette; I am watched by a cat. Inside the house, a book about evolution, invasive species, and distant ancestors of me and my dogs is waiting on a low table made of Redwood burl. A handle-less cup, Touched by Rain, still holds a sip or three of tart white wine.