Like the clipping of an oft groomed fingernail, the moon tonight was just a bright sliver of light in the cerulean sky. It had not yet climbed to its bedtime perch, but sat delicately above the treeline. The clouds tonight were stretched and gently lain across the earth as new batting just about to be stitched into a soon to be favored quilt. The moon hung just above these clouds and created a beautiful illusion. If you could suspend reality for just a moment, it appeared that a giant mountain range, just north of Cincinnati, was being sung to sleep by the moon. It was a delightful thought.
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