Fearing what lurked in the whispering Marram grass, I bounded up the stairs two at a time. I reached the upper deck of our vacation rental and saw the second-to-last green on the back nine bathed in beige moonlight. Relief washed over me under the full, August moon, having taken out the recycling and cheated death below in the deck’s shadows.
Turning to pull back the sliding-glass door, I recoiled at the unexpected sight of my grandfather resting in one of the Adirondack chairs.
Recovering my seven-year-old senses of courage and pride, I asked, “Whadareyoudoin’ out here, grampa?”
"Moon gazing," he said.