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…