As this long June day draws to a close, I’m tempted to stop my rushing around and notice the pace of evening here at Three Dog Farm. Both dogs are curled in their beds as the wind whispers her secrets to the oaks and maples. The can smell the old pine floors under my feet and a touch of rain from the drizzle outside. After the cold New England winter my feet are finally bare and I can feel the silty dirt from the backyard between my toes. Outside the window and past the columned porch the spruce tree seems to turn blue in the twilight; a spray of ferns dances at her feet and I wonder if there are fairies playing amongst their leaves. If I was still a child, perhaps I could see them. I may be too old to see the fairies, but I’m not too old to stop for a moment to engage my senses and notice the magic that is twilight at Three Dog Farm.