One of these days…the moon

I was a little girl, perhaps, 6 or 7. In the back seat of my aunt’s car; and as night approached, for the first time in memory, perched in the majestic grey sky, I glimpsed the rising moon. Impulsively, I asked my aunt to out run it. She laughed (the type of laugh adults do when they know something that children do not.) Lost momentarily behind some skyscrapers, only to reappear again, I wanted to shade it in, perfect its sphere. Aunt Martha said it was made of cheese and just for me. Cheese? But how could that be? Cheese was orange, square, flat (ok, sometimes it was thick but that depended on how focused my mother was when slicing the unruly block.) Cheese in the sky, just for the taking? Where’s my lasso? It’s going to be a wonderful life. But on nights like these, nights when I sway to and fro…I look up at that sky and think of my aunt and her buffet of round, white cheese on grey slate; and I am reminded once more that all things are possible.

One clap, two clap, three clap, forty?

By clapping more or less, you can signal to us which stories really stand out.