jumping

I’m jumping over the moon with the cow. I’ve forgotten how to let myself cry and this hurtle into space has startled my tears into jolting out—a mini-flood. I’ve no need to wipe them away; rushing through the air pushes them down my cheeks and they’ve dried before even reaching my chin. ‘Tis a pity we don’t halt and come to rest atop the moon’s surface. It’s just an arch, up and over, and we’re earthbound. I want to land in the ocean but the cow has a slight aversion to salt water; she much prefers soft fields of clover. I let her have her way because she’s the one who invited me along for the ride. I really have no say. Coming back down through the clouds is more magical than half-seeing billowed vapors from an airplane window. The mists wrap round my fingers and curl my hair. We begin to slow and I realize somewhere along the way my tears have evaporated completely. The dawning sun rises, and I’m on my back looking up for the fading moon while the cow takes her first bite of breakfast.