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It was a dark winter’s morn, and the twin moons glared
like watching eyes over the frost-dusted land, hushing uneasy birds and stilling
the breeze, causing the world to fall silent and to freeze like a paused film,
as if waiting for the signal to once again begin its motion around the star that
is, for this eternal moment, held just beyond the horizon as if put on a high
shelf out of reach by a well-wishing mother.
Twin moons, both full and large, hanging, glowing orbs
that align like this only once a lifetime. Shining out brave and bold, they take
possession of the land, owning it for this one night, walking its streets and
dancing across treetops to the heartbeat of the silence, leaving no hint of
their passing except an enchanted memory. Undulating and flowing, their pure
white light cleanses the land, caressing it with soft curious fingers, like a
jewel rarely glimpsed.
On the night of the twin moons, we watch and are
watched as of one wonder to another. |
