Dancing in the Moonlight

Trish pranced around in her garden, the evening glow slowly fading into the night. As she danced and sang about, making up songs as she went, the moon took its full shape above the trees. Her father watched her from his seat on the porch, smiling at her young antics.
“Daddy! See the moon?” the three-year-old exclaimed. He chuckled a bit, nodding. She was as excited to see the moon each night as she was on Christmas morning when she saw the huge pile of presents Santa had left for her. Her father wished he could see things through her eyes like he once did. He, being thirty-four years old, had lost his wonder for the world around him long ago.
“Daddy,” Trish called again, not stopping her elfin dance amongst the flowers, “You know why I don’t see the moon during the day time?”
“Why is that, sweet thing?” Her father asked her. Her face was so angelic in the moonlight, her curly tendrils brushing the sides of her plump, rosy cheeks that he had to sigh. This was his daughter, and she belonged to him. Nothing could change that.
“It only comes out at night.” She said, and, snuggling into her fathers lap, they sat together, and together, they marveled at the moon.