Moon

A man walks outside one night to see the moon. Brightly it beams its light between two silver trees. The man imagines the sound the moon would make if it could sing. It would be quiet like a whisper. As quiet as wind blowing through the leaves . If the moon could sing, its breathe would be that wind, wakening all that slept under its heavy glow. If the moon could sing, the man imagined, it might sound the way his father did when he would hum. Soft and low.

A woman walks outside one night to see the moon. But the moon was hidden behind a large tree. Specks of light were the only evidence she could make from where she stood. So she just imagined what the moon might looked like tonight. Since she couldn’t see it, she wondered if the moon had a sent and what it would be. Maybe the smell of water over rocks. Faint and smooth.

A man walked outside one night. He did not look into the sky. He did not look for the moon. From his view, the moon was not there. So he did not wonder how the moon would sound if it could sing. He did not wonder how the moon would smell if it had a sent. The wind blew but he only felt the wind.