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.