Strawberry Moon

He walks to the water. He's afraid he doesn't walk the walk. Money talks and bullshit walks and that just might be what he is. He thinks about action, he thinks about what he says, he thinks about her and the impotence of his last five years.

So what does he do, he walks to the water to see this strawberry moon. He walks and he sits and waits for things to get dark enough, wondering how can he overcome this. Overcome, like thoughts and feelings are obstacles. If he jumps high enough, if he says the right words, if he does the right thing.

Where does he go from here? He thought he'd be more enlightened by now. He thought wrong. Lights come on and lamps. Sitting and looking out east, the night in front of him and the day behind. Always a day behind. A day late and a million dollars short.

And then the moon. People around him asking are you here to see it, how much longer, where do we look. The bright edge of a cloud gives him pause. It grows, it brightens, it is unveiled. It's the moon you see in movies, postcards, paintings where the paint is rich and thick. A couple takes their picture against the light reflecting in the water. He rolls his eyes and stops halfway. Everyone wants to be in the moonlight, at some point or another.

Through the clouds there are faraway storms. An idiot sets off small fireworks. The moon rises. It is big, and beautiful, and he got to see it. He might not see one every again, but he saw this one. And as everything around him gets darker, as the nighttime settles in, the moon shines beyond words.