Nice to be under the moon and stars of North America again.

I wrote this post in the still of early night, under the moonlight of home.

 

The Moon Tonight

Usually the moon beams down in

mystery, reflecting the sun’s golden

rays, turning them into

liquid pools of silver light.

But tonight the moon looks

friendly like the old man who

lives there is in a good mood.

It’s the kind of moon from which Steven

Spielberg would dangle his feet and plummet a

fishing line into the starry depths. It’s the

kind a cat would play a fiddle to, and a cow

would jump over. That kind of moon would

rally earth mice to send a mouse into space–

complete with astronomy maps, a rocket,

and little space suits–sending astronaut

mice on a risky-rat launch, just to bury their

whiskered noses into thick mountains of

moon cheese.  Then the space mice would

return to earth as heroes with fat, furry

 bellies–triumphant explorers–ahead of

their time. But their history would be short

and forgotten. Public attention would be riveted

upon the green mold, growing on the 

huge hunks of moon cheese the mice collected for

science. Who knew that mold would cure the world

one day of the bubonic plague?

I said I was sitting by the moonlight, not moonshine…