My Best Friend

No one believed me when I told them the moon was my best friend.  The moon was the only one who listened, but that was also the other problem.  No one believed me when I told them the moon listened to my midnight wonderings.  My stories.  My parents were often gone and I knew I had to talk to someone because if I didn’t, my worries would explode out of me.  Living in the country didn’t give me many options for talking to other people.  Especially during the summer.  With my parents doing whatever they did on a regular basis, I was left to my own devices most of the time. 

Fortunately, I had a healthy imagination and I could spend hours alone staring at the clouds and making stories up about the family of raccoons living near our house.  There were possums living in the forest and I was dying to meet the family of foxes again.  I had seen glimpses of two adults and was wondering if there were any kits anywhere.  I was constantly in search of the fox and her family.  One night, as I was telling the moon another story and saw the mother fox hunting, I knew she had to live somewhere close. As she turned back toward the forest, she looked over her shoulder and directly at me. As she slowly trotted toward the lake I knew was just beyond the trees, the moon whispered for me to follow. If only my father had not been waiting in the kitchen, I would have been safe. By the way he swayed between angry and concerned, I knew he had heard the moon too. I wondered why he had never told me he was full of magic too. 


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