Moondance.
The night was cool and dark. The moon was shining white and round in a starless night filled with wisps of cloud. The trees out in the yard swayed gently this way, and that. The lawns in front of the houses were dark, manicured carpets. The wind stirred gently.
We went upstairs in the old house and the floorboards creaked ominously as we climbed the stairs. We went into my room in the attic where the table-lamp was shining on the desk. It lit the small room in a dim glow. You poured us each a glass of wine from the bottle that we had bought along, while I put on some music on the old record-player. The walls of my room was hung full of rock-and-roll posters.
We sat quietly for a while and drank a bit of wine, and then we got up to dance with the music. The neighbourhood was quiet, and outside the small attic-window the moon shone full and white. We danced gently to the music, while the trees beside the house danced with us to the rhythm of the wind. Our feet glided smooth and silent over the wooden floor, in step with the beautiful music.
We danced, and we danced as the night drew on in blackness and in silence. The only witnesses to our love-dance were the trees outside, and the round, white moon above. Now and again a floorboard would creak lightly under our steps, in time to the music. The night became the black of morning, and still we danced.
And while we danced, the old, white moon watched in silent contentment from above, and the trees out in the yard danced with us…
