The full, ****** moon didn't feel that super. It's powers of persuasion, the pull of its personality had ebbed to an all time low. Oh, how it ached to make its return journey, to head back to the light, to resist the draw of this lesser sphere and to answer the greater solar call. Each crator craved to add that greater gravity to its own and together give rise to the highest tides, to monster surfs that would daunt the most arrogant of Canutes. No amount of talk of waning would deny this moon it's rightful place, turning it's far, dark side to face the warmth of the sun, and orbiting on, into a crescent of nocturnal renewal.