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September 3, 2010
He was up before me with a pot of French Roast pressed and ready, when I emerged after a shower. Smiling warmly, he told me how lovely the slight crescent moon and stars had been on this crisp, clear, early morning, and I regretted having succumbed to the warmth of my bed that last half hour.

Even if I’d been up, my eyes wouldn’t have gazed into this dark morning sky, and it’s likely he would’ve missed the view too. As I backed the car out of the garage, he bid me farewell with a nod to the waning moon.