Cloud-shrouded, the waxing crescent moon back lit a screen of pines, turning my act of taking trash cans to the street into an Event. Sometimes, the scene is much to grand for ordinary tasks, and I grow dissatisfied with mundane existence. That moonlight was meant for something more than providing a dramatic backdrop to the discarding of refuse. There ought to be music, and feasting, and the rustle of silks in forest glades. The autumn night should be perfumed with something other than last week's coffee grounds.