Today, an extraordinarily sulky moon oozed memories. The misshapen red blob of a moon got the better of me. Like a ghastly cripple soiling your purple, she lay in front of me — all over the highway — hanging ever so much a slight whisper of something nameless.
I felt its fingers on my soul; heard the distant surf sing. I murmured long-forgotten lines, crimson with poison — the colour of today’s moon. I am forever grateful to the gods of darkness and sleep and forgetfulness for their mercies. I love light no less for its power to blind. But tonight was not to be mine. Evil notes brought back the airs of forgotten ways — small feats, smaller fears — wishes, wants, and wakeful nights. And the icy stillness of moonlight.
I could see myself at the head of the stairwell. They bounded down in quick steps; their echoes went faster — and soon I felt the dampness curl up my feet — the water rushed in soaring waves of blue — and in a moment the stained glass of the Egyptian windows crumbled. I felt the bannisters slip away in the surf. Down under, I was closer to their echoes than ever before.
The bend was right ahead, and the night would fade fast. I had but a few moments more to bask in its dying red. The inexorable land of memories claimed me, and I belonged.