“What’s that light that shines through your bedroom window?” asked friend Rhonda, who’s staying with me just now, where I’ve put her up in my room.
“What light?” I ask.
“It shines through that window,” she, indicating the window facing the Post Office.
“The Post Office light is too dim and low to shine in. It can’t be that,” I say.
Later in the night we look through the window together – no light, save a very distant street light. “Is that what you’re seeing?” I ask.
“No,” she, thoughtfully, with puzzlement.
A bit of time – maybe even a day – passes and I come back to her.
“I think you’re seeing the moon. It’s been coming up to full all week.”
“The moon?!? No, Beth, it’s not the moon,” says she, with a tinge of pity in her voice.
“Maybe not. But it’s all I can think of,” says I.
Another day passes.
“It’s the moon,” says she in a quiet voice.
“Thought it might be. It’s pretty bright in the night sky here.”
“I can’t believe the moon is that bright,” says she.
“Always has been,” says I.
Another day in the mountains. Another surprise for my city friend.
I smile and go to sleep.