Under a Fledging Moon

The darkness twitched like a startled rabbit, a sudden and brief event. Almost as though a portrait had shifted in a breeze only for the gallery’s curator to quickly straighten it before anyone noticed, the world realigned.
I stopped walking and scratched my head. There didn’t appear any change although a copious covering of cloud precluded confirmation. I rubbed my eyes just to be sure. No, still the same. Or was it?
As the clouds parted like a drawn back duvet, heaven changed. What was at best a glittering sky, as seen on a clear, winter’s night, instead gleamed silver. The whole universe had taken on a burnished sheen. The last of the cloud fizzled away to reveal the cause. The Moon had changed.
No longer an aerial afterthought, the Moon was reborn. A glowing, pulsing pool of pure white, the Moon grew, expanded, and retook the sky for its own. Speechless, I marvelled as like a fledging swan the moon shook off its downy coat to take on the form it would for the rest of its days. In the night, it shone. In awe, I bowed.
Under that fledgling moon, I at last knew peace. It was time to go home.

Slices of Night

We dreamt of the moon on a cool, winter’s night

Whilst others were quaking, we saw the light

A piece of space pie served in the sky

Where stars were sprinkled sugar twinkling on high

And a comet was trailing some fast-dripping cream

It made me so hungry, our beautiful dream

But glittering brightly the sky never knew

That all I was dreaming was of kissing you

And though it did twinkle, wink and entice

On that winter’s evening, you were my slice

Lost November Evenings

Lost November Evenings

An abundance of daylight stole our nights. Fireside flickerings fell away like fireflies in the sun. The glimmering moon became less than a luxurious, ocean pearl and more of an ofttimes limpet attached to the sky. The evenings were less subtle for its diminishment. Summertime madness had spread too much for my liking, the sun so unwilling to set had outstayed its welcome. I missed our lost November evenings like I did our love with not a corner of darkness in which to crawl. I prayed for our ebony nights to return. Your return, too.

50 Word Stories: Amazing (Through the Eyes of the Young)

"I flew over the moon, mama. It was the most amazing thing I've ever done."
The little bird shook its wings and bobbed its head with glee.
"The moon was on the water. Just a reflection, my sweet child," said the little bird's mother.
"That made it more amazing still."

50 Word Stories: The Caring Moon

The moon gave informed definition to the world in ways the sun refused. Where the sun seemed uncertain what colours to choose, blasting us with so many as to give kaleidoscopic headaches, the moon did not. Instead, it provided gentle outlines of subtle perfections. I loved the moon; it cared.

In the Valleys of the Moon

Author’s Note: When my headaches won’t go, I like to imagine myself in a quiet place. This was the result whilst sat drinking my coffee. I hope you enjoy.

Endless, the valleys of the Moon stretched out before me in bone-white ridges. As always, the stars beamed through the punctured night like endless celestial spotlights; I tugged up my scarf and walked on.

On good nights when the air was clearest, the heavens shone in polished ebony like perfect Nubian skin; the darkness gleamed brighter than light. I thought that odd that midnight proved brighter than midday, but, of course, memory may have deceived me.

The valley opened out like an estuary of rock rippling away into the cosmos. If not for the oxygen being pumped through my weakling form, I’d have choked, or wept, or both.

The beauty of it all hadn’t hit home until now, the sheer magnificent loneliness of it all. The fact this was Earth, not the Moon, rolled over my consciousness like a cold compress to a fevered brow. I wiped my eyes and trudged on. There had to be someone else left, didn’t there? Didn’t there!