From my copybook

For an instant she was still, listening to the long, wailing howl from the dark prairie. They all knew what it was. But that sound always ran cold up Laura's backbone and crinkled over the back of her head.

The sky was so full of light that not one star twinkled in it, and all the prairie was a shadowy mellowness.
Then from the woods by the creek a nightingale began to sing.

When the strings were silent, the nightingale went on singing. When it paused, the fiddle called to it and it sang again. The bird and the fiddle were talking to each other in the cool night under the moon.

Its light (moon) made silvery lines in all the cracks on that side of the house. The light poured through the window hole and made a square of soft radiance on the floor.

The ground was hot under their bare feet. The sunshine pierced through their faded dresses and tingled on their arms and backs.

The whole sky was filled with lines of wild ducks and wild geese flying north. Crows cawed above the trees along the creek. The winds whispered in the new grass, bringing scents of earth and of growing things.

Then they sat on the clean grass and ate pancakes and bacon and molasses from the tin plates in their laps.

Pa didn't answer, but the voice of the fiddle changed. Softly and slurringly it began a long, swinging rhythm that seemed to rock Laura gently.
She felt her eyelids closing. She began to drift over endless waves of prairie grasses, and Pa's voice went with her, singing
"Row away, row o'er the waters so blue,
Like a feather we sail in our gum-tree canoe,
Row the boat lightly, love, over the sea:
Daily and nightly I'll wander with thee."