"The
sunlight whispers in my ear, his breath a warm, sultry tease. I shrink and duck beneath a tree. My eyes squint to scan the horizon for a
glimpse of the wind, but there are no ashen ribbons or golden waves in sight. He is missing.
Trickling,
tinkling notes reflect loudly off a chandelier of glimmering droplets. The rain sings to me, and I shield my eyes,
admiring the song. Far off in my western
view I expect to see snow, but the sun grows hot with jealousy, knowing
this. He refuses my snowman a place to
set.
My sight
drops to search for the man in the moon.
Normally he rises dripping wet from out of the lake, often pale and
naked, supple and soft to my caressing gaze.
On rare occasions he dons a pumpkin robe as luminous as fire. Today he is draped in silks of the saddest
blue. My heart weeps as he steals up and
away.
An
army of stars in shining armor come to my aid, and they force the sun into the
ground—a temporary grave. I am fed with
a billion bubbles of laughter until I feel I will burst. But the stars will not stop giving, and I
will not stop taking.
A
kiss brands my cheek, and I turn abruptly to find my snowman. He landed safely in the dark. We hide from the man in the moon behind a
curtain of flurries to dance on polished rainbows and feast on stars until I
hear a fire-red growl. The sun claws its
way out of the soil, and everyone scatters."
Copyright 2015 Richelle E. Goodrich
