Dancing with the moon: A short memory

I remember the nights when the moon would shine by the window, peeking through branches of our backyard pine tree, gentle light falling onto the folds of the blanket. It was on these nights I would sit and stare at moon’s face, contemplating the shades that fell onto its smooth pearl surface, feeling special as the clear, white light washed over me.

I would imagine myself floating and leaping as I twirled weightlessly in the land of white dust, and leaving nothing but the light footprints of my dancing feet along with a trail of swirling powder behind me. I think of having gravity leave me, as I soar into the night sky of twinkling stars where the Earth looks perfect, a beautiful, sparkling jewel of life, with patterns of green, clouds, and bright city lights in the dark.

And when I drift back down to the planet, back to the bed where I have propped myself up, there the moon would be, smiling the soft reflected sun rays into the window, an inch higher in the black velvet of night. I would adjust view so I could gaze at the full, round face, and wonder more of things, like how moon’s surface hadn’t changed in the longest time, and that footprints had  virtually been stamped on it, staying in the dust where nothing stirred its existence.

I felt, on those nights, that I could have looked up at the moon forever, soaking up the reassuring glow, cherishing the moments I spent passing each second traveling in the dark midnight with a magical blanket of the calm, full moon wrapped around me.

And my dreams would fly on, in the sleepy yet alive city, surrounded by the purity of polar opposites black and white, carrying me in the late, quiet air with the distant chirping of a cricket symphony. Until moon would let me flutter down in my sleep, so high above the tree, wishing me a farewell as its light reached the edge of my bed, and glazed out the windowsill, leaving me with the still, dusty memories of our dance that night. And yet I would dream on, of the next time moon shall come to greet me, in the tangles of the pine brushes.

Published from October 9, 2009:
A giant full moon was spotted through our window a few days ago, and reminded of a little something I had written years ago. After a bit of searching, I found the notebook, and here it is. It’s different from how I remember, and though I find it ambiguous with very long sentences at times, there are some rediscovered moments and phrases here that I like. Although the moon has been associated with dark magic and eerie nights, I don’t find it so. Then again, I have never been in a dark forest alone under a full moon so… what do I know.

Anyways, thanks for reading,
thebookybunhead

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4 Comments

Filed under Poems, Essays, and Things

4 responses to “Dancing with the moon: A short memory

  1. I love the moon, especially on my morning walks. I get sad when there is no moon.

  2. The moon is a magical thing.

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