Away from the glare of the floodlights on the patio, the lawn seems dark. From the corner of your eye, it appears that something seems to be moving in the darkness, hanging just beyond the farthest reaches of light, that stops whenever you try to look directly at it. Half-heard whispers and snatches of sound seem to hang in the air, resisting efforts to identify their sources. An occasionally tang of wood smoke or cooking meat touches the senses, and only the barest hint of a distant passing vehicle, whether heard or imagined, lingers amongst the more subtle sounds of the night.
A vast lawn stretches from the patio to the edge of unkempt fields. Along edges of the grassy expanse stretch the branches of gnarled oak, maple, elm, and chestnut trees. From the branches above can be heard the occasional sleepy murmur of unseen forest creatures, aware yet undisturbed the activity on the grass.
From the dark lawn can be seen the still darker patch that is the garden, a shed beside the
garden, and an old barn and silo at the end of an overgrown wheel track. It's a
pretty safe bet that a mower of some sort is parked in either the shed or the
barn... or maybe a sickle or scythe.