Driving home from the grocery store I passed up the long wooden fence to my left, all four blocks and ten or so houses worth of fence, and I saw the rays from the setting sun turn the wood to gold. I pass by the same fence along the same road almost every day at least twice but almost always in increments of two, the coming and the going, or vice versa, and in the three years of all that passing by I’ve never seen the fence light up like it did this afternoon. Even ugly old battered wood has its moments—I felt like I’d been blessed with a gift. That’s when I noticed that the sun is setting to the north end of west, which explains why that moon has been missing my window. My window has been missing that moon, too, as have the curtains and floor and walls and neglected objects in the way of where the moon’s rays would hit if my house could rotate clockwise a little. But I have been missing the moon most of all.
When I lived at home…as in the house I lived in for most of my pre-adult life…moonlight poured in through my bedroom window several nights a year. I would pull the blinds up and let the white blue light spill onto the floor. That’s when my love affair began. I believed I’d always clear the way for the moonlight to cover me at night. But I haven’t. I believed I’d find someone to share it with, too, but I married a realist. A pragmatist, anyway, which most certainly has its upsides. Dreamers tend to focus on moonlight when they should be sleeping and on golden fences when they should be driving.
I turned into the subdivision and was blinded by the sun as it went to greet the other side. It quickly sank behind the house on the corner to where my mind instantly shifted. That house is empty again, up for sale for the fourth time since I moved here three years ago. A secret lies behind those walls, but I don’t want to know what it is. The house has one of those prominent upstairs arched windows, the kind you’d expect to see a transparent little girl with long hair and white gown standing in. Does that disclosure law require sellers to reveal that a house is haunted? I’m guessing not.
That little girl’s window is on the south side of the house, so she gets plenty of moonlight all the time. (Of course.) That’s all she’s looking for anyway. That and unsuspecting passersby.
P.S. I had to look up the plural form of passerby, and that there what I wrote is it. The word doesn’t feel right, but it is. I’m learning lots of good stuff lately.
The bask ogled the beestly passersby and fell under the spell of the fearless god-person. What a charmer that one was.