The last of the wind died...
...as the sun dipped towards the horizon.
The surface of the sea turned to glass and...
..every slight ripple distorted our reflections.
The setting sun was not the sole object of our attention.
Above the Isles of Fleet, the Moon...
...began to glow softly in the darkening, deep blue sky and far below...
...its reflection danced on the mirror-like sea.
We drifted for a while until the air began to chill and we started paddling again.
With each stroke the sun...
...sank a litter further until...
...the day was gone and only...
the moon lit our landing.
