Moon Spill

V lad, such a loyal animal, scuffles in the earth at my feet. I stand by the lake. It is beyond dusk. The moon spreads out across the water, its light, falling away, glowing as if with an imminent loss of memory.

I come here often. The dog loves the quiet of the lake, the restful hum of the night, the spill of moon. On those occasions when the weather is restless, when the sky storms and the water squalls, we stay for less time. But tonight, my heart, my soul, my dreams all are comforted by nature’s gentle purr.

I remember this lake as a child, and the familiarity of the moon over water. It was here that Ilya and I first came, barely beyond our childhood, blessed with a future, a song of forever. Life, love, it all unfolds with the spreading of wings, the planting of seeds, of ideas new, sparkling, traditions, tested, the mix of the many and the few.

The water ripples, as if whispering to me, wanting to draw me into its deep, dark cool immersion, to bathe me, wash me in its spellbindingly cold, clear solitude, its never ending, watery dream.


This small tale is my contribution to Jane Daugherty’s Microfiction Challenge # 24: Moonlit Night.