Last night, the moonlight was playfully haunting.
I was tired, and barefoot, and quietly turning lights off downstairs. My mind was on a bed warmed by the body heat of…
Two German shepHerds.
But, even with the lights off, the moon’s glow continued to cast itself about the rooms of The Inn. I actually sighed and, resigned, picked up my camera and headed outside.
A few snow flakes drifted through the air. It was cold.
I tip-toed my way across the street, and through garden beds that will soon fill from below.
Having no tripod, I shot sniper style.
Inhaling deeply, followed by a slow exhale that enveloped the click of the camera’s shutter, my hazy breath disappearing into the night.
Looking up, each star was a possibility. A pinhole in deep grey fabric.
The moon’s hole seemed big enough to light the night’s whole world.
Apparently, the moon is a bit of an attention whore.
Thanks for readin’.
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