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Array
(
[sid] => 84581
[catid] => 1
[aid] => mick
[title] => Tent Ride To The Moon
[time] => 2005-02-15 22:37:15
[hometext] => Wrote this a while ago. I never liked the end. I need to work on it again. Comments welcome!
[bodytext] => Tent Ride To The Moon Moonlight shifts between the craggy branches of the old oak tree tonight. It reminds me of the night, not so long ago, I took an unexpected trip. It was a night like this. Dogs howled at the moon that night. A moon that seemed to hug the earth with eerie yellow fingers. A moon like this. The night started out as planned, my mother let me camp in the yard. I put my tent up at dusk. I think I felt it in the air, but I'm not sure. I spent the evening watching the fog roll in, wave after wave, the heaviness shrouded around me, I pulled my blanket close as I huddled in my tent. Watching the fog, I heard the dogs when they started, first one, his lonely cry echoing in the woods behind my yard. Soon it seemed, there was a medlody of sorts, a chorus of canines, following their primitive hearts, calling to the moon. The night enveloped me, still, I sat. Soon, the lights went out inside the house. All was quiet, except the dogs. The fog moved and shifted, I saw the moon. I can still see that moon, so big, so yellow, with dark clouds that skirted quickly by. It seemed that even the clouds were shocked by the size of that moon. I must have dozed off while I sat. The next time I opened my eyes, I could hear the faint chimes of the grandfather clock in the house, it chimed three times. Three a.m. I opened the fold of my tent and caught my breath. That moon. It was still so huge, and still so yellow. A gust of wind caught at the flap, tearing it from my grasp. I hugged my blanket tighter and snuggled deeper into my sleeping bag. I heard a howl, it must have been one of the dogs. It was a strange howl, like he'd been frightened in his sleep. I pulled the flap down tight. I sat for a minute listening the the night sounds. Then I heard the wind. I could hear it rustling the few leaves left in the old oak tree. I heard the groan of the craggy branches, as the wind pulled them out of their slumber. I huddled deeper in my sleeping bag. Then the wind began to howl. A few dogs barked as if to somehow quiet the wind. All night, the wind still howled. [comments] => 4 [counter] => 213 [topic] => 31 [informant] => freckle [notes] => [ihome] => 0 [alanguage] => english [acomm] => 0 [haspoll] => 0 [pollID] => 0 [score] => 5 [ratings] => 1 [editpoem] => 1 [associated] => [topicname] => StoryPoetry )
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