I sometimes check the garden at night. The back fence has a loose board, and it pays to clarify everything is secure before bedtime. This sometimes required a torch. But not after the night the grass sparkled.
A huge moon dominated the sky, so clear and vibrant I spotted individual knots in the wood of the shed. This was the most beautiful natural phenomena I had ever seen. A miracle in suburbia. My neighbour stood at the window at the house across the way. I waved, unsure if this was the correct etiquette, and they waved back.
The experience was too good for a one off. I read up on when it might happen again, and discovered so many obvious facts. That the moon is full once a month. That every full moon has a different name. That the influence of the moon bleeds into so many corners your daily life. See you on Monday.
Standing in my garden during the next full moon was like unlocking access to a secret club. The light was boiled silver. My neighbor was not in that night, but I still waved towards her window.
After three more months I learnt the delights of nighttime productivity. I removed weeds, and cleared rubbish from the lawn and hedge. When the temperature dropped I drank soup from a thermos, and munched on a few biscuits wrapped in tinfoil. Sandwiches followed. Soon I had my grandmother's tea set out, the cakes and scones arranged on the three tiered tray.
I had nothing to be ashamed of, and knew when I did this, the moon was smiling at me. That this was a pull to something far above myself. A direct connection all the way into the sky.
These are not lonely jaunts. I love the animals that appear. The silver foxes that curl around your ankles. The three eyed cats in the apple tree. All are my friends.
The others are still a mystery. The moon faced men with craters on their skin. Under the moonlight they are neither solid or a shadow, and my shed is visible through their chests. They watch from the outskirts of the garden, getting closer every time.
I look up at my neighbour, and wave. She closes the curtains.
Line: The light was boiled silver.
