The nearly full moon shines through thin cirrus clouds, and wisps of fog float through the pines. Only rarely do I hear a drop of water fall from the trees. No night birds call, no breeze stirs the chill air, no dog barks. The silence is as palpable as was the afternoon's dense fog. I must remember to come out to watch the moon set through the small gap in the trees tonight. It will be as it must have been for those thousand of years when there was no town, but only the forest and the wild creatures, when the native tribes had gone down to the valley for the winter. I will think myself back to that time and enter the solitude of a world without names.