The old sheep are night creatures. I hear them calling to one another in the dark all night. When the sun comes up, they gather and huddle under the shelter, still in the sun, conserving themselves. They have been eating hay until last week – the farmer does not have enough pasture for them, and they trot out slowly up the hill to find the best grass. They are still most of the day, waiting. They touch heads often and pair up. They sometimes seem to be one thing, rather than a number of things.