The moon was a wraith-silver disc hanging in the lonely sky. Lasers of moonlight, as bright as diamond-flame, turned the sea a-glow like melted platinum. It was as if I was watching a scene from an old fable stepping off the page and I was beguiled by its beauty. The Chinese called the May moon the dragon moon and I could see why. The waves were a-glitter like curved scales and I became lost in the haunting lullaby of their swell and sigh.