03:00. Summer Solstice Full Moon.

My moonshadow lies crisp on the blue-tinted grass behind me. My legs stand beneath the warm water, safe from aerial attack.

Without the floating weeds, the calm night lake would be a thrilling void. In the moonlight, these shimmering continents give presence to the water's surface.

The scene is intensely illuminated: The ominous sketch of a willow's silhouette arches black and daintily over the moon and its reflections on the lakeweed, framing stripes of deep silver and white gold. The black line of trees on the opposite shore, punctuated by streetlights along the parkway, divides the picture between the mirrored beacons.

I gaze and vow to return, with elvish comrades, tomorrow night, if it be clear again.