Something about the Moon
Sometimes good glows like a beacon, even in the evilest times. It’s the lopsided grin of the moon beaming through treetops. That moon and I became old friends. It made me feel the world would go on, even if I didn’t survive. But there were good people, too. One of them was Marie. I’m headed to her old farm now, hoping to find some clues.
As I turn from the dirt road, I see the old house is still standing. I walk around to the back door, stumble, and . . .
am lost in swirling images and memories. Through the deep caves of thought I hear a voice that sings a children’s song. Marie drove us crazy singing Au Clair de la Lune over and over.
I open my eyes. Look at the woman standing beside me, “Marie? I thought you were dead.”
For dVerse prosery, continuing my spy series. Using the line, “Through the deep caves of thought I hear a voice that sings:—” from Oliver Wendell Holmes. I made up Marie singing, and then discovered there’s a real song that fits.