Full Moon. Or not. Perhaps the memory is a dream. Perhaps it was just the security lights from the beachhouses that illuminated the night instead of the moon as I remember. Whatever it was, the light darkness of the moon, or the dark lightness of the security lights, it was gentle; the night. The air was still, the aftermath of a storm passed. Entirely still. Completely. The air almost mischievously mockingly still against the subtle intensity of the sea.
