Over the Moon

Not wanting to flop around abed like a burbot on hook, he stepped out on the porch bathed in moonlight.

He saw a plump of geese circling high up. There’s no sound of their wings flapping. Not in a strict flock echelon, they’re tumbling about, doing loop the loop, as if in a courting spree, their wingtips sparkling with pearly beams.

Rapt in their frolicking, a sudden realisation dawned: At this hour, the world lying comatose, he’s the one being let into this spectacle. Isn’t it a message from above asking him to spread cheer, be it what it would?

First published in f3

Leave a Comment

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.