There was no dew on the lawn at midnight...

...As I communed with Nature under a full moon...the last full moon of the summer.  My farewell seemed only fitting on a night such as this: the air balmy and close, the crickets still singing, and the slightest occasional breeze whispering in the trees...all else, solitude.  I let my robe fall from me, and walked a few paces before lying down in the grass.  I defy you to not feel like a goddess, lying naked in the moonlight...white skin bathed in the purest of white light.  Putting on my robe once more, I held up a candle to the moon and bid it and the summer goodnight.

Masquerade

Last night was an ode to summer with a few fellow romantics.  Summer, still held in our hands, but soon, fading fast.  Dozens of candles throughout the yard, bottles of wine drunk from tarnished chalices...a midnight feast in the garden.  The voices of Florence, Loreena, and Lana sung over the course of evening; sometimes we ceased speaking and simply listened to the words. The chorus of crickets filled any silences.  The moon rose, and drew us to patches of its light, where we gazed in wonder.  We danced around a torch in the middle of the lawn, through the trees, down the sloping hill.  Spinning, jumping, twirling..."Let the wild rumpus start" indeed.  Cigars were smoked at 1am, and we conversed and read Edna until 3am.  Our masks led to a strange feeling of safety, of nothing-to-lose openness.  The night passed too quickly, and yet, will not be soon forgotten.  Summer, stay, just a little while yet.
I woke up this morning with a Queen Anne's Lace still in my hair.

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Come into my garden, said the spider to the fly

"And here's to drinks in the dark..." (-Florence)