Deep night. I could be standing at the edge of the river or the ocean. It’s quiet and I can’t tell.  

The moon lights a path on the water. I walk out onto it.

The light jumps out of the way of my foot, sparking other starry ripples upon which to step. My feet are bare. The water feels too good on my soles. 

I tippy-toe, I skip, I jump. The buoyancy of the moonbeams saves me from sinking into the murk.

Am I far from shore now or following a river bend? I pay no heed, trusting the moon to guide my path.

I giggle and laugh inside my head, worried that the spell will break if I disrupt the splish sounds of my steps.

I run, no, I sprint as fast and hard as I can, chasing the light, never catching up. As soon as a foot lands, my shadow blacks out the sparkle, but I know that it’s still there underneath or I would drown.

The moon herself follows, or watches like a proud mother, delighting in my delight.

I want cheese. 

I say this in my head, then I say this out loud.

I want cheese. Moon cheese.

The moon is close now, wearing a knowing smile. She plucks a misshapen chunk of beige from her head, from behind the side of her that lights my world.

Her arm is cartoon skinny as she reaches down.

But the closer she gets, the larger and larger her arm becomes until it is a skyscraper in my path, a building about to fall on my head. 

I no longer want the cheese.

I run back in the other direction, the water now lit up brightly, as bright as the sun, everywhere to step, nowhere to escape.

Am I afraid?

I am not. Not exactly.

We are playing a game of tag, Moon Mom and I.

She pursues me with the wanted/unwanted chunk of dairy in her house-sized fingers.

I could stop and tell her, I’ve changed my mind, let me catch my breath.

But I don’t.

The game has its own momentum and my legs just go.

Full strides now, strides that my lungs could never keep up with. Though the dark is gone, I don’t see anything but golden white water. No trees, no shore, just shining reflection.

My chest is heaving. 

Finally, I stop.

I don’t turn around. I know Moon Mom is still there because the world is incandescent. She is the Sun without heat. Gravitational pull without pressure.

THE CHEESE.

Her voice booms, but does not startle.

Though the chunk of cheese she picked would crush me like a bug on a windshield, I hold up my hand behind my head.

HERE YOU GO.

It is a crumb in my palm. 

I laugh and laugh and laugh and laugh until I can’t see through the water shining in my eyes.