|Rating: 3 / 5
Reviewer: Sean Marchetto
The hill rises towards the moon from the forest like a smooth green dome meeting its silvery equal. A light mist circles in the foot of trees like a moat. I cross the threshold and begin my ascent into the light, moving ever closer towards the large incandescent orb that waits for me at the top. Under its own power, the moon moves slowly to meet me at the summit, looming ever larger, ever closer like something I could touch, take hold of; that the other celestial bodies shy away from. A circle of dancers await, already moving in the throes of adulation, naked and writhing, feverish in the moonlight. The primal rhythms pull me in. Time loses all meaning. Only the moon exists, ever larger. The moon is all. Faster and faster we dance.
A helicopter roars overhead, it’s spotlight bright like a second moon, it’s cry like a thundering god, but it’s words are lost amid the pounding of drums and feet. It descends, foreign officials visible at its side doors. We scatter into the woods.
I am running. The forest is surprising silent. The mist grows stronger. I can no longer see the other dancers nor the uniformed officials, though the beams of their flashlights cut through the shimmery air. I slow down. Weird noises begin rising all around me. An orange glow appears. I creep forward to investigate.
It is a camp full of travelers and vagabonds, sitting around a fire, plucking at instruments, their trucks and vans parked amongst the trees. They are speaking in hushed whispers, but welcome me once I announce my presence at their perimeter. They invite me to join them for a share of the potent plum alcohol they pass around. The drink lights up my head. Stars explode above me and I see the moon come crashing down. Every crater, every shadow, every footstep of famed explorer visible to my eye. The treetops bend and sway in supplication before the moon.
I am floating among the branches. The helicopter is gone. The world is at peace. The rocky landscape of the moon scratches my belly. I hold it in my hands, stroking it, loving it. A silvery cord extends between us.
The moon pulls away, dragging me with it, out above the trees and past the lonely hilltop. The world gets smaller as we voyage into the aether. The moon tremors and quakes. Golden rays curve round the Earth, their heat melting the mist and the ribbon of moonbeams holding me suspended in the air. Clouds gather at my feet and gently bring me back to ground where the vagabonds and travelers are collecting their things, eager to face the new day.