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  • The moon that months ago burned a perfect circle through that frigid front, through all old charts, is the same - supersized - that raised mooncusser squalls this spring tide weekend. Buoys rocked, ringing. Ships swung wildly shoreward. Sailors shook like rigging. Until the skipper, checking wrecked charts, cried, "That old moon left her a narrows! If we're handsome, she'll slip into sea room."

    [Props to Henrico Prins for the shot of the super moon]
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