I'm afraid several posts like this are still to come this week.
Twilight faded as the little stars went out and the moon rose and floated upward. Its silvery light flooded the sky and the prairie. The winds that had blown whispering over the grasses all the summer day now lay sleeping, and quietness brooded over the moon drenched land.
“It is a wonderful night,” Almanzo said.
"It is a beautiful world,” Laura answered, and in memory she heard the voice of Pa’s fiddle and the echo of a song,
“Golden years are passing by,
These happy, golden years.”
These Happy Golden Years-Laura Ingalls Wilder
