The Moonrise Will Come.

       Rising above the horizon, I looked down on the Okanagan Valley. I was in a silver fullness tonight, spreading my white light into the shadows the sun had left behind. Humming along to myself, I listened to the wolves’ song to me. The wolves always cheered me up because they were the only ones to love me. Everyone else slept while I spread my beauty on the world.  

Either that or they did ill doing. Stealing, trespassing, vandalizing. Bus stations were being robbed of luggage, and souvenir shops ransacked. Was it my fault that they did that? Just because they were hidden in the cover of the night, did that mean I was responsible?

I never gave them ideas to do these things, and I never encouraged them. Crimes happened in the day as well as the night, and id people ever blame the sun? No they worshipped the sun. They worshipped the sun and cursed the moon. The werewolf was said to be activated by me, but who made that up? Did they put at the end of the story; any mention of anyone in real life is completely coincidental? No, they didn’t, and everyone blamed me for something I never did. People hated me when they had to take the graveyard shift, and children cursed their bedtime. Nocturnal creatures are shunned for not living in the day, and are often blind and ugly.

If you have ever seen the man in the moon, you may notice he frowns. I am the man in the moon, but why did humans force their own image into me. Can I not just be me, the moon, without adding a man into it?Will there ever be a time where the night is dominant? A time when the world depends on me?