the moon and i

I grew up in the country
The moon and I had a close, personal, relationship
Oh, how I remember
The beauty of a full Harvest moon
The orangish orb would dip so low in the sky
and so close to where I’d lie
that, sometimes, lying on my back in the pasture
gazing up at a star clustered sky
I’d give way to wondering
If the man in the moon were to stretch out
his understanding hand towards mine
Our fingertips might, just might, by some magic
touch
Like man touching the fingers of god.
And, sometimes,
on those warm, breezy summer nights of my childhood
I’d ponder soul-searching questions
Is the moon really made of cheese?
Maybe I could fly a rocket ship
Up, up, up
Grab hold, and nibble on it with sharp teeth
And when I had engorged myself,
I would let go and tumble
down, down, down
towards Mother earth
and she would catch me
And once again,
I’d be flying on a soft blanket of green
With a filed, satisfied belly
counting a vast multitude of stars
feeling so insignificate
to a vast, ever-expansive world
this created an innocent awe
which could take a child’s breath away
it gave me a sense of self wonderment
an appreciation of the life and beauty
surrounding and encompassing us all
An appreciation that is evr-growing within me
as I experience life
sometimes I’d long to spend all night
sprawled on the ground underneath the stars
cradle in the loving arms
of Father sky
and Mother earth
But kids have strictly enforced bedtimes
And, so I’d wind up lying in my soft bed
glancing out the window at my friend and protector
the moon
Until I succumbed to a defenseless slumber
when I would awake the next morning
my friend had vanished
replaced by sister sun
but my confidence it would be back
was never shaken
through the innocent trust of a child
I miss those nights
and the questions that bubbled up
only springing forth from the lips of a child
someday two friends will get re-aqquainted
the moon and I