I make sure to get to the station fifteen minutes before the last train to the city. The harvest moon and earlier rain shower turns the asphalt in front of the station to a sparkling carpet of gold. Climbing to the platform I can make out the narrow park that parallels the river. The tide comes on the rocks in a whooshing sound. As the water flows back into the river, it has the music of a gentle brook. A sharp billed cormorant backlit by the moon’s rays sits above the river on a boat launch piling. Pinpoint lights from houses at the foot of the distant mountain appear to wink at me. I am glad I arrived at the station early. I am the only person waiting, unusual even though it is midweek and a late hour.