more skies awaiting better moons

the sky is dim, and i look out from the rooftop disappointed and defeated. my first moon has failed to bloom; the moon rock i planted remains underground, moist and soiled and moldy. a shooting star passes. then another. i watch blankly at each life-changing wish that flashes and fades beyond the horizon, opportunities for others to reach out for and cherish.

taking the elevator down to the ground, i then step out of the building. i rummage through the overgrown grass and untended shrubs that conceal the spot. it doesn't take me long before i locate it, having marked the ground previously with a big, red cross, similar to those of old pirates' treasure maps.

after burrowing through the cool, damp soil, i retrieve the moon rock, its surface as pale as it was the moment i buried it... yet somehow, unexpectedly, it begins to pulse. faintly. almost unnoticeably. a weak, rhythmic beat to its increasing phosphorescent glow. life begins to stir as the gentle breeze erodes particles of dust that cling to its face.

there are still more skies awaiting better moons.