I watch the moon waltz across the sky, the abundant stars longing to be her partner. She dances, dipping behind the mountains playing hide and seek. I follow her lead, and we twirl against the midnight sky, touching the tree branches stretching out to meet us. The moon wears a golden gown, and I my tennis shoes—they were not made for dancing. I kick them off, and in my stocking feet, we trail over land and sea—the mist rising to meet us. It is a glorious trip, and I am envious that the moon dances this way from dusk until dawn, hiding in the daylight amidst cumulous clouds, sometimes stoic in the bright blue Colorado sky. The moon pulls at my soul, but I cannot travel with her every night. I feel her calling in my womb, my bones, and the blood running through my veins. But now and then, I watch the moon tango across the sky and join her in the rhythmic journey.
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