Mighty mighty.

About to close the curtains for the night, I spy a thin crescent moon.

Me: Look at this moon.

Historian: (comes over to look, then goes immediately outside.)

Strains of The Commodores "Brick House" float across the meadow, almost a mile away, from the Angler's Lodge:

She's a brick--house
She's the one, the only one,
who's built like a amazon
We're together everybody knows,
and here's how the story goes

The moon is beautiful, perfectly white in a sky still blue.

Historian: I'm giving those guys a pass, because it's a wedding.

Mighty mighty, just lettin' it all hang out
She's a brick--house

SLC, we are coming home tomorrow. Get your spotted, brindle dogs of superb character ready.