She came floating out of nowhere, forming on the mist of the nightly fog, grasping on to the filaments of the moon’s light that delicately weaved its sinewy self into her –creating her. What she was I had yet to determine. Friend or foe? Would she speak back if I found the courage to speak to her? What tales would she share and would I understand? I slowly froze rooted to the spot in the woods just shy of the dirt road that would lead me straight to where she floated; above the scorching summer asphalt but below where the mountain breeze fell to cool the land. Do I emerge and show myself to her or will she dissipate if I do?
It had been a long day full of adventure and yes the moon was full and my nine year old imagination was free and boundless, but I know what I was seeing and no one will ever be able to convince me otherwise. I had only come down the mountain to fetch more supplies. Bruce and I had split at the creek and he was well on his way to his house for whatever he was scrounging up for our upcoming forays. Here I was rooted in fear. How would I explain not having my supplies? Better yet how would I explain Her?