Moonlight

Too much to do. I feel like doing nothing. I push through the monotony and do one thing.

At least, that's something.

I step outside and look at the serene, still, yet moving Moon, sharing her icy light.

I feel her splendor penetrate my skin, sending goosebumps to the surface. An unexpected chill signals my body to warm up.

Her radiance meets my gaze, and we see each other.

Does she know how safe her sultry glow makes me feel? How at home I am bathing in her presence? Without her, the entire world would come undone, and all she has to do is just be, be the Moon, and shine.

A summer's night breeze catches the fragrant hydrangea shrub from the garden below and blows it up to me. I look down and inhale deeply. The moonlit, pearl-white petals are welcome company. It reminds me of better, youth-filled days, running carefree through my grandmother's gardens.

That's when I smelled hydrangeas for the first time.

My mind wanders, and I remember her house also smelled of ginger creams-my mouth waters with the memory of the sweet sticky glaze melting in my mouth with each bite. The cinnamon, nutmeg, and cloves had a warm, inviting taste. I would play night games with my cousins under the Moon, eating ginger cake with the sweet smell of grandma's hydrangea bushes hovering in the warm, summer night air.

The Moon has always been constant, like the night train traveling on a distant track. Its eerie yet comfortable sound doesn't unnerve me. It lulls me into a dreamlike state somewhere between the Earth and the Moon.

I close my eyes and imagine the Moon embracing me in her light and taking me away into eternity, where all the best memories are kept somewhere in the stars.

I remind myself that I, too, need to be constant. If all I can do is that one thing, like the Moon, that keeps everything together, my efforts unseen but felt by all unbeknownst to them.

I step back into my home and hope to be like the Moon.