Kirk and I go for our late night walk through the campground. The "Snow" moon lights our pathway interspersed with patches of darkness where trees overshadow us. Reminding me of the poem The Highwayman "the road was a ribbon of moonlight".
According to the Farmers' Almanac, full moon names date back to Native Americans, each full moon has its own name.
Crickets sing, an owl hoots, in the estuary a toad sings its high chirring tune. As we progress around the park we pass unnoticed by four sisters sitting on a patio in quiet conversation having each come from different countries, or parts there of, to gather here for a time. The quiet is broken by laughter from several levels below us, Friday night revellers.
We move away into the warm, humid darkness and once again it is only the insects we hear and if we could the tramping feet of leaf cutter ants in their nightly march. These wee beasties will climb right over you if you stop unawares and not cause harm unless you try to brush them off and press too hard. Even then I find the bite is light and does not last long for one with so formidable jaws.
A large purple flower falls from a vine above us joining others strewn about the path. We pass through scents of jasmine and other flowers, a waft of wood smoke, and green vegetation.
Back on our patio the full moon hangs above the silhouettes of mango, fig and palm trees. I can see a long way down the beach. Geckos chirp. It is a calm night but the surf continues its endless assault on our moonlit shore. Each cresting wave lighting up the edge of the beach as it runs along in a surge of sparkling silver.
We decide to take one more turn round the area. A neighbour passes me by "Beautiful night"! Yes it is. It truly is.
