I drove to work under a full moon, thinking about two friends now battling with disease. When I was a child, I sometimes imagined the moon not as a planet floating up over me, but, instead, as hole filled with light. And as the hole slowly drifted down nearer to the horizon to settle beyond the cottonwood trees near our home, I fancied that I might walk through the trees to find the spot where the moon found my hometown, a spot from which I might step into the light and walk through.
Today, the moon seems stiff and immovable. And since my childhood, my parents and grandparents and my wife and so many others have left me. On a good day, I imagine them all walking through the moon to find a better place. On a good day, the clouds nearby glow as if electrified. On a good day, the moon is not near this hard and blue.
--Mitchell Hegman
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