Hyldee ran just a sand-slap or two ahead, her laughter echoing off the cliffs. She kept reaching back for me as I stretched out my splayed fingers. The bottom of my dress was a heavy weight of wet sand and seawater. Hyldee moved as if her toes didn’t even touch the beach. The difference, I guess, between the quest, the quester and quested.
It was Hyldee’s quest; to watch the strawberry moon split the clouds on this special solstice night. Not for another 50 years, Hyldee and I ancient crones crackling when we watched it then. “It’s an omen, Velda,” she repeatedly told me. “Marrying during full moon solstice; it scares me.”
It didn’t scare me until Bradford, looking good in his old soldier clothes, limped towards the altar. I couldn’t do it; I loved Brad, despite the changes, but I was marrying him because of them. Pity. Altruism. Self-denial?
Hyldee recognized my body language; she knew what came next. So she grabbed my hand, and we started running. We haven’t stopped. The clouds are excusing themselves to let the Strawberry moon out. The wet sand shimmers; our footprints are sucked back into the beach. Were we ever here?
full solstice moon
rides peak of roof