Moondance

The moon is so big tonight. I want to reach out and push and see it bob away like a balloon. I want to fly to it. So I fly, arms wide. Soar. Closer by the second. It's a pool of cool water. I want to plunge in, wash off the hot sticky day.

I don't plunge. It's not water; it's a rock hanging in the sky. Cold and dead and bleak and beautiful. I raise moon dust as I land lightly, and at once jump off again, float along for yards.

Imagine dancing on the moon. Imagine moon ballet. Pas de deux in one sixth Earth gravity. The danseur throws the ballerina in the air and has time to grab a beer before she floats back down. The image of a man in tights checking his watch and looking up makes me grin.

"Fool's grinnin' at the moon. He's gonna start barking at it."

I am not going to bark at it.

Sing maybe.

"I see a bad moon rising…"

"Shut up, fool."

end