Small, rolling hills have blocked your view all the way from where you parked so you’re not sure what to expect. Then, the land opens. The vista before you is a deep depression in between more - larger - rolling hills, dotted with trees. Branches and trunks appear black, silhouetted in the low-lying late day sun. It’s Golden Hour as photographers say. When your eyes adjust to the backlighting you see strands of bright white standing out in stark relief to the dry, gold grasses and the black trees.
It’s not a colorful scene. Yet it has a certain serenity. You find a seat and wait, for the sun to set. Gradually the long strands of white tubing with small transparent balls at the end stop shining and lose their luster, to be replaced by subtle pin points of color. Green, purple, red, yellow, blue. The sky darkens and the last rays of sun slip behind the furthest hill. You begin to walk a path that traces its way somewhere above the lights but still within the valley. Above is a deep navy velvet broken only by the glow of a silver crescent moon. Below, the long strands of light have begun to come into their own. Green, purple, red, yellow, blue strands of light seem to be reaching away from earth and toward the heavens as if calling for someone. Or something. A few satellites and stars begin to appear in the velvet expanse overhead, blinking and slowly moving to their own rhythm.