I watched her in the sky as she rose higher and started to slowly fall. The moon was a teacher for me that night, as I stayed there for hours in the stillness with the fireflies and the wilderness, my thoughts, and my own burned things. So I sat in her structure, and watched the new fireflies of the early summer flicker on and off. It was June, and the single wall left standing and the bones of our house were to be torn down in three days. The moon had just been full, three days prior, and she was on the wane, shrinking down in the sky.
The moon was so bright, peeking through the mountains, that my instincts took the wheel and drove me to the place I knew as home. I took the normal roads through the mountain to go to the temporary space we were living, but suddenly a song came on the radio that I was singing along with, and my mind got lost in the melody. It was night, and on that remaining single wall, through a square that used to hold a window, the moon illuminated all that remained of our burned-down house. There was one wall left standing in the east. There was no ceiling left, just a space opened to the stars and the sky. I was lying down in the charred skeleton of the cast iron bed in what used to be my bedroom. Feature Image: Photo by Ganapathy Kumar on Unsplash
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