August drabbles - 22
My Oregon - 1 - Tangerine Moon
I’d never seen the man in the moon till we moved to Oregon. I knew he was there of course; I’d seen pictures. But I thought maybe others had eyes more skilled, or imaginations more free. Then a friend said, “Look at the moon,” and I saw—the whole of his face, eyes, nose and mouth. Truly, a man watching from Oregon’s moon!
Later that night, when hot summer’s sun turned to wind and rain in the midnight hour, an orange moon from the pumpkin patch was spying over me. I wondered then, what other mysteries hide in this countryside.
I’d never seen the man in the moon till we moved to Oregon. I knew he was there of course; I’d seen pictures. But I thought maybe others had eyes more skilled, or imaginations more free. Then a friend said, “Look at the moon,” and I saw—the whole of his face, eyes, nose and mouth. Truly, a man watching from Oregon’s moon!
Later that night, when hot summer’s sun turned to wind and rain in the midnight hour, an orange moon from the pumpkin patch was spying over me. I wondered then, what other mysteries hide in this countryside.
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