The shrinking moon reaches the zenith late. I stand in the shadow of the eaves and watch the dim figure of the cat playing on the lawn, softly frosted with pale light. A single window in one house glows for an early-rising neighbor. I don't like to see the evidence of waking. They are all better off asleep. It would be good to be able to cast an enchantment on the town, so that it always slept, and only I would be awake, and the deer and raccoons and birds. The only time I like the place now is when the animals and I alone are stirring. I'm glad that I myself sleep through a large part of the town's waking life. It's good to be out of sync with this place. I hope I can keep it that way.