Grasshoppers make helicopter noises at the edge of a field of restless, adolescent corn. A crow eyes you from a weathered fence post, feathers shaded blue in that peculiar way that jet manifests itself in absolute light.
As you walk down the old country road, hot asphalt smelling of oil, you become acutely aware of the texture of the moment. The music of birds and insects is accented by the laboring “Chuff! Chuff! Chuff!” of a distant tractor. A warm, sweet breeze stirs the grass alongside the road.
But there is more here. There is a feeling. A mood. A suspicion. The shadows seem deeper than normal. Longer. They reach out. Out past the trees, through the corn, over the horizon. New paths leading to an old place. The out-land, the undiscovered country.
Sometimes things come down those paths – when the way is open. Will you sit and wait? Or will you go yourself? Up the path and beyond the sunset?
There is where the monsters are.