I remember a week at the beach in the hot grip of August. There was laughter that splashed with the waves at high tide. Moans with the cool bare breezes of night.

There was a night we lay on the crumple of sheets kicked off in passion. A mockingbird on the roof of the cottage runnning through a repetoire of all sounds he'd learned during the day.

Though I didn't see them I'm sure every star in the universe was shining, the moon at it's fullest, the ocean reaching for shore and retreating.