Standing on the deck under the half moon, which is casting dark shadows across the garden. The moon seems extraordinarily bright for its phase, and the skies are a velvet darkness sequinned with stars and studded with the brilliance of Jupiter, Mars and Saturn as they chase the moon along the ecliptic path, held captive in eternal orbit around the star that sustains life on this planet.
The night air is unseasonably balmy as I lean on the railing, enjoying the reflection of the moon on the still waters of the Atlantic Ocean, with the faint roar of a tumbling wavelet carrying up from the rocky shore. Far out to sea, the lights of a merchant vessel slip silently by, the throb of the engine unheard in the stillness. The sound of an outboard engine gives away the nocturnal activities of poachers taking advantage of the calm sea to do nefarious deeds, knowing they will be unhindered.
A drumbeat drifts over from the island, a favourite place for gatherings of this nature, where man can lose himself in the rhythms of the soul. Conventionality looks askance on such activities, and the biggest critics are those who are afraid to expose themselves to the possibility of finding out who they really are, of connecting with their souls and even admitting that they have one. So good luck to those communing with the universe on this wonderful evening under the stars. May your messages be good ones.
As for me, sleep evades me in the stuffy atmosphere indoors, but an excess of mosquitoes makes the idea of sleeping under the stars not too attractive, and no doubt the early hours will bring a sharp drop in temperature, so I have no plans to move the bed out onto the balcony! I'll stay here a little longer and enjoy the view.
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