On July 20, 1969 I was playing at a small chamber music festival on an island in Maine. After rehearsal, some of us had decided we should put a TV on the stage of our little concert shed to experience the landing on television. The set had a small black and white staticky screen barely discernible from the seats in the hall and so, after a while, I wandered outside. In the darkness of the Maine sky, the moon shone bright and clear. Looking up with eyes squinting I imagined I could see the Eagle landed. I thought I heard a distant smattering of applause. It must have come from inside the concert hall. Alone, I thought I heard the universe murmuring a brief bravo.