The moon will be full tomorrow. Already, it is crisp and dazzling, and all night the dense shadows crawled by as breezes sang in the pines, accompanied by hooting owls. When at last the sharp light was softened by the screen of ponderosas to the northwest, I sat for a while and listened to the various sounds. For a long time I was puzzled by a strange high pitched screech which came form the north. I thought perhaps it was an exotic species of night bird. Finally, I realized it was a breeze blown branch scraping against something- a rain gutter, perhaps. It was a bit disappointing. Fancies of a visitor from some distant place were dissipated by a mere mechanical explanation. But I have no intention of letting that explanation keep the astonishing avians of my imagination from populating my dreams.