To hold the moon... / by Christina Rosalie

We were driving home the other night and the moon was following us, the way the moon does. Playing peekaboo, a late summer moon like a milky porcelain saucer tangled between the branches of leaf-heavy trees and slumbering buildings.

Bean was nearly breathless, “It’s so bea-u-ti-ful!” he exclaimed.

And then, “I want to hold the moon, mama!” His voice full with urgent longing.