Strange Nights

With a slight tilt of my wrist, I can see the moon in my hand mirror. The moon in the mirror—is it any less real than the moon above? The pale neon moon on my ceiling, surrounded by a myriad of pale neon stars—is it any less real than the moon outside my window? I slip out of my bed and tiptoe to the fluttering drapes. The midnight breeze is cool and sweet, and as I squint, the moon becomes a simple lamp in the distance. It sputters and goes out. The moon is veiled by clouds tonight, but if I look into my mirror, it hovers in my vision and glows bright silver. I touch the surface of the looking glass and my fingers are kissed with moonlight, glittering in the strange light that comes with near-darkness. I blink, and the moon is gone. Outside, the clouds have parted and the moon glows once more, but in my mirror, there is nothing but darkness.

Eclipse

As I sat waiting for what I thought would be a life changing scene, I saw another— more subtle, but equally stirring. Shadows lightened, darkened, and shifted on the ridges of bark on a towering tree. Branches rustled in the faint wind, whispering, “shhhhh shhhhh”. Orange butterflies soared as white ones fluttered, while tiny birds hopped on a picnic table. A sudden rush of wind brought a cascade of falling leaves that made a crackling sound like burning firewood as they scattered across the stone tiles before me. A mother walked her toddler across a bridge, smiling down at the tiny arms and legs straddled between her own.

Minutes passed and people began to gather in the lawn near where I was sitting. In the corner, an East Asian family held their glasses up at the sky and marveled at the sight they saw. Nearby, a black father smiled at his young son who gazed at the sun through special glasses with his mouth agape. Beside them, a white mother and her daughter lent them another pair of glasses, so the father and son could look up at the sky together. They all laughed when the little boy exclaimed that he wanted to fly to the sun one day, when he was older.

And then they smiled at me.

Many people came together on a cerulean afternoon, and their hearts beat as one. I felt that we are all the same.

Because we are.

And this is how we should always be.

God of Shadows

Streaks of blue lightning pulse across the blackened sky, their fingers tearing through the clouds and screeching, “Make way! Make way for the god of the shadows!” A looming figure creeps behind the flashes of light, casting an ever darker silhouette onto the windswept fields below. The gales howl ahead, warning all creatures to bow before the shadow king. And with a sweep of his hand, the four winds are silenced and even the lightning ceases to glow. The blue embers dance in anticipation, waiting, waiting.

And so they wait, but the storm has passed, and the king has stepped down from his throne. The embers fade into the cerulean sky and the winds are gentle again. The storm is forgotten, as most night terrors are, and the forest creatures return to play.

Garden at Dusk

Raindrops quivering on the patio railing reflect the glow of fairy lights strung over the back garden. The rain has stopped after a day of incessant showers, and now evening has begun to fall. The farthest clouds in the west are tinged with pink and gold. Lilacs hang heavily from their stems, basking in the first (and last) rays of sunlight while swaying in the cool summer breeze. A butterfly flutters from bloom to bloom, drowsily sipping on nectar as it gently kisses each petal goodbye.

Late Autumn Writings

The fluttering drapes conduct the dance of the dust motes suspended in November sunlight. Each twirling particle kisses the next, as they swirl around each other, edging closer and closer. Outside, the morning clouds ripple in the muted sunlight, as the heavens awaken and smooth their silken sheets. Folds crease across the weightless grey, and at last the sheets are folded away as sunlight illuminates the pale blue sky. The warmth spreads to touch the nearly-bare trees that reach out their branching fingers to warm their limbs before winter. And from one branch a young cardinal takes flight, in search of the corner of the sky.

Lamplight

As the street lamps blink on one by one, the fireflies begin to glow. They glimmer beneath their ethereal siblings thousands of miles away, and dance in the silver light of the moon. In a secret Morse code of their own, they call to each other, 

“I think I love you,” and,

“Would you love me?”

And they twinkle in delight as they pair off and drift to darker corners of the starlit sky. The spirits of the night whisper into the wind as they avert their eyes, their mirthful laughter tinkling the wind chimes on my window. The music of the chimes drift past my ear and I smile as the stars glow brighter above me.