Sitting on the dock after dinner with a glass of wine watching the last of the colors leave the sky. The way the fiddler crabs clear the dock before me as if I am the cruel, wicked White Witch. The bats flying in their wayward patterns catching the abundance of mosquitos and other bugs, sometimes coming close enough that I could hear the beat of their wings. The gauzy, nearly-full moon, behind a thin veil of clouds.
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