by Ray Jason
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I was carrying a pitcher of water to
pour over myself with the hope of cooling down enough to go back to sleep. After dousing myself, I stood on the bow and
smiled - knowing that I was the only human in this silver-tinted lagoon. The night bird fell silent. Maybe it had never seen a naked man
glistening and shimmering in the moonlight.
I sat down, and my dampness merged
with the dewy deck. Sleep no longer
appealed to me. This was one of those
transcendent moments that only a fool or an empty person would fail to savor. Such a night must have inspired the many
immortal classical music geniuses who had composed “nocturnes.” The idea of writing a philosophical nocturne
suddenly intrigued me. Ideally, it would
be poetic and evocative and broad in its perspective – illuminating the grand
sweep of the human horizon.
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