It was early summer, and twilight had stretched itself across the sky with feline languor. The afternoon breeze had dwindled to a zephyr, and we were ghosting along up my favorite river under main and genoa, the sails just filled. Ahead of us, the full moon rose fat and orange as a ripe cantaloupe, and we slid silently into its glimmer.
The Light Fantastic
Jan 02, 2024
2 minutes
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