Sunday, November 20, 2005

The Whimsical Skies

Ok, my blog title promises fairy tales so I'm finally getting down to it and posting a little vignette. Enjoy!

The Whimsical Skies

I my hand I am holding the moon, and its face is smiling benignly back up at me. I had thought it would take up rather more space in my hand, but there it is- a silvery grape no wider than a dime.

Its brilliance remains unabated, no matter how disappointing the size, and makes the coarse sand of the beach appear covered in snow. In fact I am amazed at how much light shines from it and that it doesn't hurt my eyes to look at it so close. I wonder how I, standing on the edge of an island near midnight, could have caught this beauty in my hand.

I am afraid. I remember the fragile balance by which things are held together, and I fear I have destroyed the balance of earth and sun, so I glance sharply back up at the sky. All the stars are silent, and Orion gazes heedlessly past. None of the heavenly bodies care that this moon is now mine, glowing just as happily in my hand as it did in the sky.

I am happy but jealous of my moon, which does nothing but smile and shine. I decide I will keep her, hide her, make a setting in a necklace for her. No one else has a moon- this moon is mine.

The tide has been slowly climbing the beach. It has reached my bare, cool toes, and is beginning to eat away at the sand beneath my feet. I turn and scramble over the logs at the high tide line, watching as the waves slowly grow larger and higher, breaking against weathered logs and pulling them out to sea.

They cannot have my moon! She is mine! I jump to the road only moments before another wave crashes upon the very place I sat. So I run and run as fast as I can into the forest and up the hill.

"YOU CANNOT HAVE HER!" I scream as the waves begin to flood the forest, splashing through the ferns and blackberry thickets with a salty spray. But the tide advances, intent on the glow in my hand. I clench my fist tight around it, but the moon shines just as brightly through my fingers. And now the waves are lapping at my heels again, so I sprint away, pushing my path between giant cedars and pines.

I am beginning to discover how treacherous a guide moonlight is- I have stumbled into a dozen brambles, fallen into gopher holes, and into countless stumps and rocks. But she is mine! No one will take her- by force or persuasion.

The waves do not persuade; they advance.

Now I have reached High Point, and I can climb no higher. To my dismay, I see the waves rising through the bushes, pulling towards me from every side. I gaze back at the sky. The stars, no longer impersonal, watch my every move.

The tide has reached me. The moon is heavy in my hand. No choice is left. I fling the silver orb back up into the sky, and she smiles, nods, and finds her place. The tide slowly recedes and I sit upon the last dry rock on the island. The stars fade a little, resuming a disinterested stance.

They knew it couldn't be done.