Sublime

La lune montait de l’est chaque soir, se juchait sur les houppiers et rôdait lentement dans la nuit. Elle ouvrait sur la mer une balafre d’argent.

Without the light from the moon, the night was so dark he could barely make out the trees until he was almost bumping into them.

At night, I open the window and ask the moon to come and press its face against mine.

Streaming in through the window, the moonlight cast long shadows and splashed the walls with a touch of diluted Indian ink.

When I look deeply at the moon, I breathe in and out deeply and say, “Full moon, I know you are there, and I am very happy.”

I make a path for the moonlight