Early this morning I opened the front door and threw the dregs of my coffee across the front lawn. The air was still cold; darkness seemed to be hesitating before slipping off its cloak and scuttling towards the horizon. A full moon sat staring at me low in the sky as if it too were just waiting to say goodbye. I watched the still-warm coffee hit the grass and a little cloud of steam drift briefly above the ground. Then I shut the door and went inside to ready myself for the day. When I came out about half an hour later, the night and moon had gone. A bird twittered somewhere in the bushes near the driveway. The moon and the night were here, it seemed to say, but you missed them. I could still feel their breath though. Somehow it stays with me even now, even as this tiny day passes into its autumn, the memory of our little ménage; the night, the moon and I and how we met like strangers and lovers.