When I was a child, I would flit between houses in our little village at night; a firefly greeting the grasps of chasers in its passing. I received joy in being with my aunt and cousins while my mother would visit my grandmother. Eventually I would end up at my grandmother’s house and run back home when my mom was ready. In the country the only lights are the security lights on telephone poles and the yellow 40 watts from the kitchens and living rooms of our homes. Not to mention the holes in the night sky and the great Moon.
I would try to outrun the Moon, but it stayed with me — every zag and dip, every drag and zig. I could not shake the Moon. Magnetized in the darkness, the man knew my moves before I did. The light casting shadows making things appear taller and bigger than they really were. I hesitated but I knew I could leap over them. I was as smart as the Moon.
Some would say the Moon is just a rock that reflects the power of the Sun. But I think the Moon contains its own —
just ask the tides.