Winter Tide

For the last two nights the moon and the snow have conspired against me.

The moon has pulled on me as if were an ocean tide.  I tried clawing my way to the center of my bed to resist.  I tried holding myself there by the bottom bedsheet, but the moon gradually dragged me back to the edge. 

And the light!

My bedroom has filled with slants of pewter light—knife blades of light slicing through the blinds.  Blue shadows extended at odd angles from lamps, dressers, and the bed itself.

The moon drew me to windows, one after another, to the windows.

Outside, the entire landscape of snow glowed, sparkled.  The immediate prairie, the nearby hills, the far mountain range, the sky above: everything colored entirely by the same silver brush.

How could I sleep with the moon so insistent and the prairie and mountains I love lighted as if from within?

-- Mitchell Hegman