The moon was bright and captivating, but I hadn’t noticed it yet. My thoughts were scattered, so I abandoned them and set out to pursue some peace of mind. My comfy and comforting blue-and-white unbuttoned plaid, flapping in the wind, like a cape, like my wings. The moon made it luminous.
I followed no path but the one of the moment. My steps were as fickle as the wind. Left, right, forward; slipping, walking. The moon was low and huge and glowing, shining through the branches. The random radiance of the lightning was a pleasant distraction. Imprecisely, I knew I wanted to see some vastness; somewhere open and alone. The Lookout. On the way, I caught a glimpse of the moon.
Up the damp dark hill, two people holding hands ahead, course change. Perhaps by the graveyard, the smaller lookout.
Spider webs’ snares, sneaky spinners’ closeness, stay away from the trees.
The mysterious, tugging moon. Another hand-clasping couple. Slightly exasperated, another detour, away from my new destination. Went another way, “let’s not be creepy,” self-made path behind the graves, glimpses of silver-white blaze through the trees. No vantage point perfection, sweaty summer air. Dissatisfied homecoming strides.
Desire grasped at the exiting fancies of an echoing large unpeopled scene. No rest for my spirit. Half empty peripheral parking lot, head down, but the moon shone down and I saw it, magic and bright, unobstructed. Then I went home.