The man in the moon and I are calmly staring at each other. From the screened porch of a friend's cabin, the hilly, most southwestern finger of the Appalacians, the night is calm. Crickets are chirping, "You're here. You're here. Relax. Relax." After the furious intesity of summer panic, this is sweet, sweet calm. Sweet, sweet rest. Sweet, sweet refreshment. Sweet, sweet gift from God.