Two dragonflies flew just above us. Catching the sun, their wings looked like translucent, metal sheaves. They too are migrating now; vast clouds of them, invisible to us, are moving south along with warblers and hummingbirds and eagles. No one knows where they go.
We walked in big, flexible circles in the fields under a sun that had just the right, sharp edge to its heat like a blade on the skin. The dogs set the course and trotted from scent to sound, but they kept aware of me, and when I bent to pick up a stone or uncover an unusual mound, they hustled back as if summoned by a thought. Luna, shortcutting through soybeans higher than herself, came across a wide expanse hurling her head and front paws up every four feet, popping up and down at speed.
We covered miles. We saw no one except a motorcyclist wearing a yellow bandana around his skull who waved happily at us as we approached the road.