The air hung unusually warm for a mid-September evening. So warm that the bugs and mosquitos were following me as I waited on the shoreline. But the wind had died down and the lake was calm. Slowly the full moon rose over the opposite shore. Peering between the branches and leaves, it cleared the tree tops. It was clothed in a pink veil but as it rose higher the color changed to a shade of orange and then to a golden glow.

As I marveled at this harvest moon I could hear an owl in the distance. Was it too watching this nightly ritual? And what of all the people that have stood on this shoreline and watched this very same moon rise into the sky? Those that once ventured north to a lovely small resort on this lake? Those that might have hunted in the woods nearby and fished these same waters?

The moon slipped behind some clouds as I was pondering these questions, and then it slowly inched past the threads of clouds and shone down brightly, glistening off the water’s surface.