I wrote a story about the moon. About all the ways it watched the living and the dead. It told the tale of an ever-changing world, morphing night after night in its transformation from darkness to full light. The things it must have seen from a perch so high in the sky, even beyond the sky, to a place between earth and the heavens. An ether where the souls of the dead look through the mist for once last glance back.
I wrote a story about the moon. About its pale reflections in the still summer waters or its silent watch through the barren winter trees. While hidden in the sunlight it catches all glimpses of life, even those who think they are too insignificant to be seen. There was not a place it had not seen, not a deed gone unnoticed in its lazy sojourn across the sky.
I wrote a story about the moon. About how it was here before you and I and forever after. Living a lifetime as it grows from sliver to silver over and over again. It’s story about how the moon binds us, from the earth, to your last glance from the ether, and beyond.