At twelve o'clock I lay in bed and stared out the window. From high above, the moon shone out from upon the clear, icy, celestial emptieness, and in through my window. It was a great, bright disc, usually silver, but on this summer night it was tinted with a pale, glden-orange. I loved it's color, and the way it shone over the earth and with it's rays, bathed everthing it touched in a whitish glow, and in their absence, created black shadows. But even these shone, somehow. It's radiance attracted me, fascinated me, and left me staring at it, hypnotized. I was drawn to it. Slowly, quietly, I slipped out of bed, letting my feet drop to the soft rug. Like a ghost, I walked through the hallways of my darkened home, and eased open the door to the screen porch. I walked out and stood upon the wet grass, breathing in the night.