I reach out my hand, feeling the rough dew covered shrubs. Thick blades of grass crunch with each high step. Leaves hide the chalk moon from my eyes. The canopy has made a new night sky, devoid of light. Sporadic flashes from fireflies show the way like dying candles.
At the edge of the wood, the moon tries to imitate the sun with its pale light. The stars seem too bright, like there are holes in the dark sky, so the sun can shine through. The tall wild grass gives under my heavy feet. I part the shrubs like a curtain, and enter the meadow. Silence does not know this place at night, for it comes alive in the darkness.
I walk along a low stone wall. My fingers barely graze the smooth rock islands, in the coarse sea of mortar. My feet are following the wall, and I my feet. Sitting by itself atop a hill is the willow tree we used to climb. Our names carved in its skin. I reintroduce myself, and rest my outstretched hand on its ancient bark. I sit and lean against its strong body and gaze up at the moon. I observes its off-color craters. I sit, doze off and dream of what could've been, under the tree where you first kissed me.
- Michael Barchetti
- Pittsburgh, PA, United States
- Hi I'm Mike Barchetti. I love the unique and the strange. I am opinionated, and love to discuss things. Humor is the spice of life, because nothing is ever off limits. With that being said, I am a very sarcastic and vulgar person. Besides my love of discourse, storytelling is something that I live for, and whenever the two meet, I am in my element. I'm very outgoing, and like to meet new people, so give me a shout!