We are descending a mountainous region in the tropics. My husband & others are in the lead, while I am taking the rear, following behind the partner of a girlfriend. I am under the impression that we are in Jamaica, although I have never been to Jamaica, nor do I know if it is in fact mountainous. (The environs very much resemble Dominica for which I have great fondness).
It is night & quite dark, yet somehow we are still able to navigate & negotiate the trek.
We are coming upon a sizable ravine spanned by a wooden suspension bridge. The front of the party has already made their passage across the slatted, aerial walkway -- J & myself have yet to make the traverse. Just as we reach the lip of the crevasse, he abruptly stops, reaching his hand back in a silent gesture to wait.
He tilts his head, looking upward -- to the sky? To the top of the unnaturally large (also admittedly out of context) black spruce across the gorge? Using something as his guide marker(s), he points his finger up and in a short arc down to a particular point along the distant, mountainous horizon.
As if on cue -- save for a moment's hesitation (fashionably late?) -- the Moon begins to crest the dark ridge, glowing, resplendent. Our ever familiar, luminous beauty. For a moment we watch Her rise in silence & I wonder to myself how it is that he knows Her so well, for it seems a bit out of character. Then, as if answering an unspoken command, we both grab our cameras & play paparazzi to the Moon.