When I saw the moon while walking the dogs, I had to take a picture of it. I am standing beside my house and the building on the right is the shed that makes one side of the chicken yard. The house beyond that is owned by people from Virginia who spend summers here. I am surrounded by empty houses owned by the faint of heart who go south for the winter. They are called "snowbirds" by the year-round population, and the term is slightly derogatory. They are a step above the people "from away," who move here from other states. These are seen by most of the locals as interlopers who want to take over the town and ruin it. It is my opinion that they are right for the most part, yet my own status as an outsider lumps me in with the rest. Almost all of my friends and acquaintances came here from somewhere else. The natives treat me well and seem to like me for the most part. They are polite and interested in me, in my artwork. They are the perfect hosts, welcoming and solicitous. But we will always be the company that won't go home.