From the Moon, Tonight.

Hanging by a thread from the moon tonight.

Only I've forgotten which way the moon is going.

Is it waxing or is it waning so I look up to check.

Suddenly I see the moon isn't there at all.

I look back down suspended in midair.

I feel the thin string slipping through my fingers faster and faster.

Then I start to feel the drop in my stomach, the wind whooshing through my hair.

The street lights that seconds ago were tiny twinkling specks getting bigger and brighter.

But still there is no fear in me, my mind is calm and quiet leaving me plenty of space to observe everything around me.

I notice the speed I'm falling at is a speed at which I have never traveled freely.

Birds are falling up and I am falling down. 

I sink through wisps of white clouds.

There is the faintest salty smell in the air that suggests I'm near an ocean.

I know what's coming next and still not even the slights inkling of even nervous anticipation I am completely at ease.

Even enjoying now the beautiful midnight colors.

I am beginning to hear the rushing noises of the world below.

Why aren't they asleep, I wonder.

Maybe I am falling above a big city like New York, or London, perhaps its Paris.

Although I am close enough now that surely I would be able to see the Eiffle Tower.

Somewhere in the back of my mind it registers that I am cold now.

Becoming aware of this I realize there are white crystals of ice floating all around me.

It must be winter here, I think vaguely.

I begin to fret, not over the velocity at which I am hurling towards the ground, but about the people below because now they're in my sight.

I hope dimly that they don't worry about me.

My night gown flutters about my ankles.

I can hear the shouts and screams of terror and confusion from below.

Everything in me is telling me to look down, but instead I look up.

A ray of brilliantly shining light disorients me for a moment.

And then I know it is the sun and there is my string right in front of me, like its been waiting for me the whole time.

I grab hold and I come to an abrupt stop.

Like I kite I soar through the skies over oceans vast and blue.

Dropping lower I can see familiar mountains.

And beyond them the valley I call home.

Dawn is just braking all is quiet in the village.

Swooping lower still I spot my house, still, in the early hours.

Through my open window I slide right onto my bed.

I hold fast to my string I wouldn't dream of letting go.