While my three kids, accompanied by myself, were frolicking about on the meadow rebind our house, the sky above the distant edge of the sea was aglow with the setting sun and the crescent new moon was already peeping out from behind the scarlet clouds.
A few cows grazing on the pasture let out a long drawn-out moo now and then as if urging their master to lead them home as quickly as possible.
Our two mother hens and their baby chicks were scurrying homewards one after another from the graveyard of the nearby monastery.
The kids' mother, standing by the kitchen door, sprinkled a handful of rice onto the sandy ground in the open.
At the clucking of the hens, the chicks scrambled for the feed, chirping.
"We've done quite well this year, with ten chicks growing fast," beamed my wife.
The joyous sound wave drifted through the golden evening mist.