The fir wood is barely discernible through the fog,
as we sit sipping coffee on the dock.
There is a hush settling around us, but for the frogs,
as, slowly, a moonbeam breaks through.
It trips across the unbroken surface of the lake,
dancing on the mirrored aspect now view able.
I wriggle a little, attempting to shake the numbness
from the concrete shelf we rest upon.
You whisper a soft "Damn." when tipping the canteen
to refill my mug, shows evidence of its emptiness. 
As a sadness settles heavily on to the scene,
you assist me to standing, and we start for home.