by Ray Jason
In a far anchorage of the Archipelago of Bliss, the thick tropical night heat had glistened my little ship. As I came on deck, I was delighted to find her shimmering with moon glow. A single night bird was calling for a mate - or perhaps it was just saluting the almost unbearable beauty.
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.