Like most homes with kids, bedtime meant stories. In our house, it was tall tales and ghost stories told by my dad.
Learning how to cast shadow puppets against the wall, and tales of shooting and twinkling stars were my favorites. Especially if we had just seen it from the varandah before bedtime. Then, there were the magical tales of the moon. Always the moon.
Ellie and Portia always wanted to know why did the cow jump over the moon? Also, what was the man in the moon doing while this was happening? To this my dad always had an answer, a different one everytime, and more fantastical than the last. Ellie and Portia would get really quiet. Those two – “…In their dreams they sleep with the moon… “
For Prosery Monday over at dVerse Poets Pub hosted by Merril where the rule is to use this line in your prose, no alterations, in no more that 144 words.
This morning is especially gray. I open the door to the lushness of my garden that is still mostly green. I am greeted by a pair of butterflies dancing around the blooms of the butterfly bush. A welcome sight. As I step outside cupping my mug of tea, I note that it is cooler than I thought. It feels like autumn has taken hold.
butterflies brighten gray as autumn calls
For Frank Tassone’s Weekly Haiku Challenge where the prompt is New Coolness. To read or to participate go here