A few bats were wavering in air hunting insects, and occasionally an owl or a nighthawk crossed the lake.
Killdeer were glorying in the moonlight and night flight, and cried in pure, clear notes as they sailed over the water.

The Harvester was tired and filled with unrest as he stretched on the bridge, but the longer he lay the more the enfolding voices comforted him.

All of them were waiting and working out their lives to the legitimate end; there was nothing else for him to do.

He need not follow instinct or profit by chance.

He was a man; he could plan and reason.
The air grew balmy and some big, soft clouds swept across the moon.