December Vignette - "Long Night's Moon" by Linda Mooney

"Long Night's Moon" 

             She watched the single snowflake make its descent toward her. Drifting and twirling, it seemed to be angling toward her face when a faint puff of wind changed its course at the last moment. Instead, it landed on the edge of the shawl and sparkled like a rare jewel in the bright moonlight.

            “The clouds have parted. That is good,” her husband softly remarked from the other side of the small fire. “With the skies clearing, the moon will give us enough light to see by.”

            She shivered in the cold. “Will it shine long enough for us to get there?”

            “More than enough,” he reassured her. “It is the Long Night’s Moon.”

            “I have not heard it called that, but I can understand. The nights are longer this time of year.” She shivered. “It is also a Cold Moon.”

            Getting up from the rock where he’d been sitting, he went over to fetch the ass. The animal shook its head. It wanted to continue grazing, but it was time to move on. “We need to keep going. It is not much farther.”

            “You are certain?” she lightly teased as she eased up onto her feet.

            He pointed ahead. “It is over that rise. I have seen the lights in the distance. It will not take us long. When we arrive, I will seek shelter for us at one of the inns.” Turning to her, he caught the spasm of pain crossing her pale features, and he gripped her hand. “Hold on.”

            She did, squeezing his fingers until the discomfort subsided. At no time had she ever complained during their long and arduous journey, but he could tell the infant she carried in her belly was giving her trouble. It was nearing her time, which was why he worried if they’d reach the town in time.

            After another moment or two, she took a deep breath and released his hand. “We can go now.”

            “They are becoming more frequent,” he observed.

            Bright spots of sweat glistened on her face as she nodded. “Soon,” she murmured. She did not explain what she meant. She didn’t have to.

            He helped her step up onto the rock she’d been sitting on and use it to boost herself up on the back of the little donkey patiently waiting. Despite the small fire they’d used to warm themselves, his wife’s skin was like ice, and his worry for her health intensified, as well as that of the unborn babe.

            Once she was settled on the animal’s back, he started to remove his cloak. She saw what he was doing and reached down, placing her hand on his shoulder. “No. Stop. What are you doing?”

            “You are chilled. You need to stay warm.”

            “I am well,” she firmly argued. “Put your cloak back on. I do not need to have you sicken.” Lowering her voice, she gently added, “I need you and your strength now, more than ever.” Her dark eyes glittered in the moonlight. For several heartbeats, he stared into the purity and beauty of her face. And for the hundredth time, he marveled at the miracle of her love for him, and of his for her.

Nodding, he wrapped himself up again as she pulled her own garments tighter around her.

           After kicking dirt over the fire, he gathered up the reins and led the ass back onto the road. The creature obeyed without balking or hesitation.

            “Not long,” he repeated to the woman sitting hunched over, her arms cradling her swollen belly. “Then we can rest.”

            “I will be glad when we get there.”

            He agreed. “It has been a long journey, but it is almost over. Have faith, my love.”

            “I do. I always will.”

            Smiling, he gave the rope a tug, and they continued on their way toward the small town lying in the distance.

            Behind them, a star of immense brightness began rising above the horizon as it followed the young couple to their destination.

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November Vignette - "Beaver Moon" by Linda Mooney

"Beaver Moon" 

            They slipped underneath the chain link fence that separated the village from the outer regions of the city that was off-limits. Ignoring the sign that read DANGER! RADIATION ZONE!, they remained hunched over as they scurried over the barren ground until they reached the dark shadows cast by the tall, crumbling buildings. The weather had turned unusually cold, which meant the guards were huddled inside their little sentry shacks, trying to keep warm. That had given them the advantage they’d been hoping for.

            Aris stopped at the end of one street and dropped to his knees. Famke crouched behind him to keep watch as he checked the map. “Can you read it?” she whispered. They didn’t dare use the flashlight they’d brought with them for fear of having the light spotted within the dark ruins, and the laws were very strict about people trespassing.

            “Yeah.” He pointed skyward. “The moon’s bright enough to see by.”

            She glanced overhead. The milky orb looked huge where it hung just above the rooftops. It was so bright, she could read the names on the buildings. “Can the guards see us here?”

            “Not unless we walk out so it shines on us,” he remarked. “As long as we stay in the dark, we’ll be okay.” He checked the map again, then grunted. “What’s the name of this street? Can you tell?”

            They both squinted at the rusted sign poking out of the crumbled cement slab nearby. “I think it says Borleans. B-o-r-l-e-a-n-s. Is there an Borleans on the map?”

            “Yeah! That’s it!” He threw a grin at her. “That’s the street!”

            “Which way do we go?”

            He gestured to their right. “That way, I think. If the next street isn’t Tumball, then we need to backtrack and go left.”

            Famke snorted. “What if Tumball is two streets that way?”

            “It isn’t because this road beside us is Dekker. We’re on the right block.” He turned the old paper map around. “I just can’t tell which side of the block we’re on.”

            They went right. It was approximately fifty or so feet before they reached the next intersection, but by then they no longer had to check street names. Their destination lay right in front of them.

            Famke gasped as she stared at the ornate carved stone edifice of the building. She would have been satisfied to stare at it longer but Aris grabbed her hand and pulled her inside with him. “I thought you said it was safe to be outside if we keep to the darkness!”

            “From the perimeter police, yeah! But there’s still the outcasts we hafta watch out for!” he hissed.

            She cast him a wide-eyed look of fear. Outcasts were those people who’d been thrown out of the villages, condemned to survive on their own, God knew how. Word was most of those poor souls took refuge inside the radiation zone and hid inside the buildings. Neither Aris nor Famke knew if those stories were true, but they didn’t want to take the risk.

            Aris waited until they were inside the building before pulling out the flashlight and turning it on. Even though they were no longer outside, he kept his hand over the end, shielding the beam so it wouldn’t reflect off the grimy windows. Despite the dim glow, they were slack-jawed at the sight in front of them.     “Have you seen so many books in all your life?” he whispered.

            Famke shook her head. “It’s like paradise! This must be what heaven is like. Full of books, and all of eternity to read them!”

            Simultaneously, they turned to look at each other, identical grins on their faces.

            “Where do we start?” she softly asked.

            “I dunno.” His eyes darted to something over her shoulder, and he pointed. “There’s a table with some books on it. Let’s check those out first!”

            She agreed, and they hurried over to the nearest long wooden table. Dragging an extra chair next to her, he sat on the dust-covered seat and focused the flashlight on the tome.

            “What’s it about?”

            “Umm…” She checked the title on the cover, sounding out the words. “As-tron-o-my. Astronomy. What’s that?”

            “I think it’s the study of the stars and planets. Does it have pictures?”

            She flipped through the pages. They both oohed and awwed over the colorful photos.

            “Man, wouldn’t it be something if we had books like this back at the village?” Famke wished aloud.

            “We can’t,” he reminded her. “The leaders say it’s because of all this knowledge that our world was destroyed. That’s why books are no longer legal.”

            “It’s not fair.” She blinked away the tears rising in her eyes. “Not all books are bad. Many of them have beautiful stories in them. And pictures, like these. Oh!” She stopped and poked a photo of a creamy white circle. “That’s our moon right now!”

            Aris peered over her shoulder. “Yep, that’s it! What do the words say under it?” Although he had the required rudimentary reading skills needed to get by, Famke was a lot better at it than many people he knew, including himself.

            “Uhhh…” She ran a finger down the list. “It’s about all the full moons. Wow. Did you know every month the moon has a different name?”

            “It does?”

            “Yeah!”

            “What does it say about this month’s moon? Does it have the name for November’s moon?”

            “Uh-huh. Right here. It says the full moon in November is called the Beaver Moon. It’s named after beavers who build their winter dams this time of year. It is also called Frost Moon and Mourning Moon.”

            “Frost Moon I can understand because it’s cold this time of year, but why a moon in the morning?” he interrupted.

            “Not morning like when the sun comes up,” she corrected. “Mourning as in feeling sad when someone dies.”

            “Oh. Why is it called that?”

            Famke shrugged.

            “Well, why would it have all those different names instead of just one?”

            She read a little more of the description. “It says the name depends on the winter solstice.”

            “On the winter what?”

            “Solstice.”

            “What’s that?”

            “I dunno, but I bet it’s explained somewhere in this book.”

            “I’ve heard about beavers but I’ve never seen one,” he confessed. “Have you?”

            She shook her head. “No.” She grinned. “But I bet there’s a book about ‘em here!”

            They both chuckled when an unexpected sound made them immediately seek cover underneath the table. Aris shut off the flashlight, and they nervously waited in the darkness for the sound to come again.

            Pressing her lips to his ear, she murmured, “Think it’s outcasts?”

            “I dunno, but it’s too dangerous to stay here any longer. Let’s get back to the village.”

            They crawled out from under the table, keeping their eyes and ears peeled for any sign or sound of movement. Famke gave the book they’d been perusing a final look. “I wish we could take it with us.”

            “So do I, but you know the instant someone else sees it, they’ll report us and destroy it. And that’s just for beginners.”

            She nodded. They’d heard horror stories about what happened to people who’d been caught with illegal contraband. Sneaking into the forbidden zone was one thing. Having possession of a banned object, like a book, was an entirely different and more serious matter.

            Aris noticed her sad expression. Reaching out, he took her hand and squeezed it. “Hey. We’ll come back and read some more.”

            “Really? When?”

            “As soon as I think it’s safe enough. I dunno when that’ll be, but I promise we will.” He smiled. “Hopefully next month. Then we can find out what the December moon is called.”

            She leaned forward to give him a quick kiss on the lips. Grinning from ear to ear, he led her out of the library, and together they hurried back to the outer perimeter where they managed to sneak underneath the fence and make it home before anyone realized they’d been gone.

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October Vignette - "Hunter’s Moon" by Linda Mooney

"Hunter’s Moon"

              Most of the year, the little cabin was empty. A little wooden one-room hut at the edge of the woods that gathered dust and cobwebs until its owners returned in the fall to take occupancy and clean it out.

            The full moon illuminated the open field adjacent to the cabin. It enabled Crestan to make his way like a silent ghost toward the building whose windows now shone like tiny suns in the night. Smoke from the chimney rose upward until it appeared to envelope the glowing orb.

            Reaching the line of trees that edged the field, he quickly shed his outer skin. Bared in his human form, he shivered in the frosty air, but he continued toward the cabin. Partially formed ice crystals crunched beneath his feet, cutting into his flesh, but he tried to ignore the pain. He had to see inside the cabin to make sure.

            He carefully peered inside the first window he came to and spotted the fireplace on the other side of the room. It cheerfully provided warmth and more light along with the two lanterns already lit within.

            He could hear muffled voices, but the people speaking weren’t visible from this end. He moved to the end of the cabin where the other window was located. Here, the voices were clearer. Even though his natural form had more acute senses, he wasn’t able to understand human conversation unless he was in his human form.

            Slowly, gradually, he raised his head above the sill to look inside. Sitting at a table near the window was an older man with a young boy. They were eating from bowls as they conversed.

            “So this moon is called the Hunter’s Moon cuz this is when we go huntin’?” the child, who couldn’t have been more than twelve, asked.

            “In a way,” the man replied. “You see, in the olden days, this is the time of year when hunters and farmers would go out and hunt near and far. They’d bring in as much game as they could. They’d skin it to use the hides for clothing and whatnot. Then smoke and preserve the meat, and store it so they’d have enough food to last them through the cold winter months when the game would be too scarce to find.”

            “Why didn’t they go to the store to get food?” the child asked.

            The man chuckled. “Grocery stores didn’t exist back then. They had to hunt, or grow their own food in gardens.”

            “And that’s why we came here to the cabin you and Grandpa always came to? To hunt so we’d have enough food for the winter?”

            The man laughed again and reached over to tousle the hair on top of the boy’s head. “Yes. To hunt. Most of the time we do it more for sport. We don’t really need the meat. Although your mother does enjoy fixing stews and all with the deer meat if we happen to get us a buck or doe.”

            “At school, Mrs. Tafta told us the full moon this month was called the Dying Grass Moon,” the child stated, reaching for a cracker.

            “She did, huh?”

            “I guess that’s because the grass is all dead and turning brown, like the leaves die and turn colors on the trees.”

            “Could be,” the man said. “Never heard it called that before, but it sounds about right. Although I have heard it called the Travel Moon a couple of times.” He snorted. “Heaven knows why it’s called that.”

            They ate in silence for a while, when the boy spoke again.

            “Do we hafta hunt for deer? Can we hunt squirrels and all, too?”

            “We’ll see if we can’t get us a turkey if we come across any,” the man admitted. He gestured to the child’s bowl. “Hurry up and finish your chili. Then dress up good and warm. It’s gonna be a cold night tonight. Oh, and don’t forget your gloves!”

            “I thought you and Grandpa hunted in the mornin’ ‘for the sun come up,” the boy commented before shoving a spoonful of chili in his mouth.

            “Normally we do. But since the moon’s so bright out, and the deer love to feed when it’s a night like this, I thought we’d sneak out to the deer blind and see if we can’t bag us a nice buck before daylight.”

            Grabbing his bowl, the man got to his feet. Crestan quickly ducked below the window to prevent being seen. He heard a chair scrape and knew the two males would soon be leaving the cabin to venture across the field to the other side where a tiny hut on stilts sat at the edge of the tree line.

            Which meant his time was limited.

            Hurrying back to the far side of the cabin, he resumed his natural form, taking a few seconds to let the warmth soak back into his muscles and blood. With his feet now hooves again, the brittle grasses and ice crystals no longer hurt, and he bounded across the field to reach the safety of the trees.

            He quickly retreated to the small copse of sheltering oaks. There, he found his mate lightly dozing, waiting for his return.

            “Vuli! Vuli, wake up!”

            She opened her eyes, her slender head jerking up at the sound of urgency in his voice. “What’s wrong?” Her eyes suddenly widened. “They’re back, aren’t they?”

            “Yes, but it’s the father and his young son this time. And they’re preparing to go out to the small hut to hunt tonight.”

            “Tonight?”

            “Yes! We have to leave and find shelter somewhere else to stay until they go away!”

            She awkwardly got to her feet, her body ponderous with the pending birth of their youngling. “We need to warn the others,” she told him.

            “We will. Come. I’ll clear the way for us.”

            He went ahead, using the massive rack of antlers on his head to keep the overhanging limbs and brush from biting into her distended sides. Whenever they encountered a family of squirrels, they let them know to remain hidden from sight until the humans left. The squirrels promised to spread the word.

            They traveled most of the night. At times they thought they heard the distant sound of gunfire coming from behind them, and their hearts bled at the thought of the animals who might have met the end of their lives tonight.

            When Vuli could go no farther, he found her a large strand of maple where she could take refuge. As she trampled down the dead leaves to make a comfortable bed to lie on, Crestan stood guard. Overhead, the shiny white moon cast its bright light over the surrounding trees. With his enhanced vision, he could see a great distance in either direction.

            Nothing would get to his mate or to him tonight. Or the next night. Or the night after that. He would give his life for her and their unborn babe.

            “Crestan?” Her voice was as weak as she was, but for now they were safe.

            He glanced down at her and gave her a loving smile. “Don’t worry, my Vuli.”

            “I was so worried when you were gone.”

            “I had to go. You know that. If I hadn’t, I wouldn’t have learned they were back, or that they were going hunting tonight.” He motioned upward with his nose. “Did you know this moon is called the Hunter’s Moon?”

            “My mother always told me it was the ‘danger moon.’ When the leaves turn color and start to fall off the trees, that is when life is the most at danger.” Sighing, she set her head down between her front legs. “Tomorrow when the sun comes back, will we have to leave again?”

            “I don’t think so. But if we must, we’ll do it when it’s dark. It’ll be safer then. Their eyesight is pitiful, even with the moonlight.”

            “Crestan, lie next to me? I need your warmth.”

            He stretched out beside her. Truth be told, he was as exhausted as she was. Moreso because of his worry and fear for her.

            Before long, she was asleep, her nose nestled in his fur. Somehow, he managed to remain awake the rest of the night and allowed himself to rest only when the Hunter’s Moon finally sank below the horizon to make way for the sun.          

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September Vignette - "Harvest Moon" by Linda Mooney

"Harvest Moon"

             Alaman found her outside, sitting on the deck in one of the lounge chairs. Smiling, he opened the back patio door and went to join her. It didn’t take him long to discover why she was out here.

            “I should have known this was where you’d be. Observing another full moon, my love?”

            Veelancia glanced over her shoulder. Her deep green eyes shone like two tiny lanterns that allowed her to see in the dark. “Would you kill the lights inside, please?”

            He replied by waving a hand behind him, and the cabin went dark.

            It was as if that signaled the universe to pump up the power, and the Milky Way burned with greater luminosity overhead. But the brightest glow came from the beautiful sherbet orange-colored orb hanging above the treetops.

            A scraping noise let him know his wife had brought the other lounge chair around the pool and set it beside her. He eased himself down in it to join her.

            “All right. Tell me what I’m looking at. What’s it called this month?”

            She laughed softly. The sound of it made his heart flutter. No matter how many years they’d been together, her gentle laughter always affected him that way, and always would.

            “This won’t surprise you, but it’s called the Harvest Moon,” she replied.

            “Of course. This is the time of harvest.”

            “And it’s also known as the Full Corn Moon, or the Corn Moon, or the Barley Moon.”

            “Didn’t you say last month’s moon was the Barley Moon?”

            “They’re interchangeable,” she acknowledged. “Just like you can sometimes call the full moon in October the Harvest Moon.”

            Alaman let out a bark of laughter. “How do you manage to keep track of all that? Why does it have to have a name, anyway? To me, a full moon is a full moon.”

            “Why do you pay so much attention to when the equinox occurs, you with your spells and potions?” she countered.

            “That’s different.”

            “Uh-huh.”

            He knew that tone, and chuckled as he stared back up at the glittering panorama above them. “Well, it’s the perfect night for moon gazing. The rains have let up long enough for us to get a cloudless sky.” He started to breathe in the surrounding scents when he paused. “Unless you…”

            “No, I didn’t have a thing to do with the weather…this time,” she quickly countered.

            He chuckled. “Anyway, I’m glad autumn will soon be here. I like the summer, but not the sweltering nights.”

            “I like the cooler, crisp days, too.” She smiled at him. “Remember that one September night a few years ago?”

            How could he forget? He could almost feel the blood rushing to his extremities as he recalled their first time together. The perfection of it. The love between them. It hadn’t been long after that when he asked her to marry him.

            “Damn it.”

            The sudden irritation in her voice drew him out of the memory. At the same time, he heard a soft zzt!, accompanied by a tiny flash of light.

            “Speaking of rains and sweltering nights…” she began. In the bright moonlight, he saw her gesture again. It was answered with another zapping sound and pinprick of light occurring almost in front of her nose.

            “Woman, are you seriously taking out mosquitos one at a time?”

            “Humor me. It gives me delicious satisfaction to get them back for trying to bite me.”

            “You know there’s an easier way to keep those pests off of us, don’t you?” Lifting his hands, he made a spreading motion. A thin web of the palest yellow spread upward and outward until it became a protective dome that settled over them.

            Veelancia cast him a disapproving eye. “You sure know how to take all the fun out of bug killing.” She pointed above them. “And that blanket you put up is blocking our moon.”

            He could tell she was somewhat teasing, but there was also an underlying tone of annoyance. “If I dismiss it, the mosquitos will return.” He had to say it even though he knew she was already aware of the consequences. To his amusement, she waggled the fingers of one hand, creating a thread-like pattern that wove above her fingertips.

            “Then I challenge you to a shooting contest. Loser has to conjure up dinner tomorrow.”

            Alaman felt the smile spread over his face. “Is that all? Why not make this more interesting? Raise the stakes a bit.”

            Her eyebrows rose. “Name it.”

            “Winner gets to pick the position.”

            She cracked up. “You’re on!”

            A simple wave, and the net disappeared like wet cotton candy.

            For the next hour, they zapped every mosquito that dared to approach the two sorcerers, and the air flickered like celebratory sparklers. Neither of them kept score. It wasn’t necessary or important. What mattered was this moment in time, on a balmy September night, with just the two of them, and the memories they were creating underneath the glow of the beautiful Harvest Moon. 

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August Vignette - "Sturgeon Moon" by Linda Mooney

"Sturgeon Moon" 

            “What are you doing?”

            Kryra whirled around, startled. Recognizing him, she started to salute him, but he waved it off.

            “Sorry. I didn’t mean to disturb you,” Captain Braid apologized. “I thought the viewing deck was… Never mind.”

            “No, wait. You don’t have to go. I was just leaving,” she told him, and moved to walk past the commanding officer, when he stopped her.

            “No. Please. Stay. It’s not often I get to see another human face among the crew, much less talk to them.” Something in his voice made her stop. He seemed reluctant for her to go. She noticed his outer uniform coat was unbuttoned, which told her he either was on a break, or about to go off-duty. Flashing him a smile, she nodded and returned to the wall window. He joined her.

            “Beautiful view, isn’t it?” he remarked.

            “Yes. It reminds me a lot of home.”

            “How so?”

            “According to the ship’s computer, it’s the month of August back on Earth.” She pointed to one of the orbs circling the planet below. “See that moon? See how Sedra Prime shines on it? If we were down on the surface of Sedra Four, it would look like a full moon.” She gave an all-encompassing wave of her arm. “All of them would.”

            She sensed the captain coming up behind her. “I remember seeing our single moon’s phases when I was growing up. It was one of the reasons why I wanted to join the Galactic Forces,” he admitted. “I wanted to see the moon close up. Then I wanted to see the other planets in our solar system. And when I grew tired of seeing the storms on Jupiter and the rings of Saturn, I wanted to see Andromeda. Then Sirius. Then Cassiopeia.”

            She turned to find him smiling at her. “And continue onward, farther and farther out into space. To other galaxies and solar systems.”

            “Exactly.”

            She returned the smile. “That’s how I felt, too.”

            “You did?”

            “Yes. And still do.”

            “Exactly.”

            They stared out at the magnificent view for several long and silent minutes, until Braid spoke again. “You said it was August back on Earth?”

            “Yes.”

            “A very hot August, I assume.”

            “A muggy August, where I’m from,” Kryra remarked.

            “If I remember correctly, all the full moons had a name, didn’t they?”

            “Yes, sir.”

            “So the August moon would be…”

            “The Sturgeon Moon.”

            He turned to give her an astonished look. “Sturgeon? Like the fish?”

            “Yes, sir. In fact, it’s called that for the fish.”

            “Why would they name a moon after a fish?”

            Laughing softly, Kryra shrugged. “I don’t know. The ship’s computer couldn’t say exactly. Fortunately, there are other names for it.”

            “Other names for the same moon?”

            “Yes.”

            “That’s interesting. If there are other names for the same full moon, and all of these moons showed up in August, what would the others be called?”

            She caught the amusement in his tone. Pointing to the other moons circling the planet, she told him. “That would be the Green Corn Moon. And that one the Grain Moon. And that little reddish one I think is the Fruit Moon.”

            “How about that one?” He pointed to an orb barely visible above the planet’s horizon.

            “That’s the Barley Moon.”

            “Hmm. Those sound like crops. It makes sense, considering it would be the time of year when the harvesting is done.”

            She glanced over at him. “You sound nostalgic.”

            He crossed his arms over his chest. “So do you.”

            “How long has it been since you were…home?”

            Braid bowed his head. “A while. A long while.”

            Taking a deep breath, she took an at-ease stance. She was comfortable around the man. Always had been, which puzzled her since most of the crew was split in two other camps—those who feared him, and those who practically worshipped the ground he walked on. She fit into neither, but maybe that was because of what she was. She was accustomed to captains keeping their distance from astrophysicists. As long as she did her job and did it well, there wasn’t much of a need for him to make any sort of contact with her.

            Which was why this moment in time was such a rarity.

            She gave a sideways glance at the man less than a meter away from her. He was relatively young to be a captain of a celestial rigger. Roughly ten years her senior, from what she’d learned. But he bore the physical and no doubt mental scars of a man who’d earned his place and this ship.

            He caught her studying him, and that corner of his mouth lifted. “A cred for your thoughts.”

            “Sir, you’ve earned your quarters in order to take a little R and R. Have you thought about going back to Old Earth for a short vacation?”

            “Yes, I have, Doctor. Many times.”

            “What’s stopped you?”

            He turned to face her directly. “My parents are gone. I have no other family left there. What would be the point?”

            “Memories. Reliving old ones and making new ones.”

            “And how do you propose I make new ones?”

            “Go to places you’ve never been before. Places you’ve always wanted to see but never had the chance.” She cocked her head. “How long has it been, Captain?”

            “Twenty-eight years. How about you?”

            “Sounds like you’re way overdue,” she told him, deliberately not answering his question.

            He wouldn’t let her slide. “How long has it been for you?” he repeated, but not forcefully. He sounded honestly interested.

            “Eighteen.”

            “Sounds like you’re way overdue, as well.”

            “Yes, well, I would, too, but I hate traveling alone.” It came out before she was aware of her slip, and she silently cursed herself.

            Braid continued to stare at her with those intense blue-green eyes. She often dreamed of them. Unintentionally, of course. He cut a demanding figure. Maybe that was why he didn’t intimidate her. Neither did she get the impression he was trying to.

            In fact, if truth be told…

            It hit her with a clarity that almost surprised her. The man was lonely.

            Of course he might be, she told herself. Isn’t that what’s always said? That it’s lonely at the top?

            “You hate traveling alone?”

            She turned back to the wall window.

            “If that’s the case, Doctor, why are you here?” Once more, she could tell he was toying with her, but in a good-natured way. “Aren’t you traveling now?”

            “This is my job. It’s not the same.”

            “With your intelligence and marks, you could have a job anywhere you wanted,” the captain pointed out. “Yet you chose to apply to the GF.” His voice dropped. “Because you wanted to see what was beyond our own galaxy. If that isn’t traveling, what is?”

            She almost winced when he pressed that button. With one short conversation, he now knew more about her than most of the other crewmembers she’d been in contact with in all the twenty-two months since she’d first come aboard this ship.

            “It’s not the same thing, and you know it,” she gently retorted, and waited to see what his reaction would be.

            Braid chuckled, surprising her again. “Okay. I get it. Traveling is for pleasure. Going places because it’s required for your job is another thing. Have I got it right?”

            “Yes.” She added a nod.

            “But what if you decide to, say, take in a little sightseeing the next time we dock at a substation planet?”

            “I’d rather not, thank you.”

            “Oh. All right. I understand.” He took one more look at the panorama outside the ship, then turned to leave, but paused to address her. “I need to get back to the bridge. We’ll be arriving at the Caudulis system by oh-nine-hundred hours. Several of the crew have requested remote leave, which I plan to grant. You’ve earned enough quarters to take some time off for yourself.”

            He’d noticed?

            “Thank you for letting me know, sir. I’ll keep that in mind.”

            “And…I’ve been thinking about maybe hyperjetting back to Earth for a three-day holiday myself. Do a little…traveling.” He noticed her wide-eyed expression. “I’d be honored if you’d accompany me. I hate traveling alone, too.”

            She watched him stride toward the door. When it opened, he stopped one more time.

            “Let me know if you change your mind, Dr. Trevor. By the way, my first name’s Stephen.”

            He exited the room, leaving her astonished and intrigued. Turning around to study the moons below, she wondered how long she should wait before she let him know she would take him up on his invitation.

 Linda's Website

July Vignette - "Thunder Moon" by Linda Mooney

"Thunder Moon" 

She chose the black horse.   

Standing in the glare of the multi-colored lights, Ginnie took another moment to enjoy the craftsmanship of the carousel stallion before slipping her foot into the gilded stirrup, grabbing the brass pole, and swinging her other leg up and over the red lacquered saddle.  

The seat of the wooden sculpture felt worn and natural, like the fit had been made especially for her. Looking around, Ginnie watched as other couples, parents with children, and teenagers made their selections, choosing which horse or lion or giraffe or tiger they wanted to ride. Bits and pieces of conversation and laughter drifted to her, disjointed by the warm summer breeze.   

During the latter part of the season, the carousel in the park stayed open late, drawing those who preferred the cooler, carefree evenings over the heat of the day. Luring them with the music and the lights, and the childhood thrill of its up-and-down, round-and-round movement.

She’d been through a tiring day but wasn’t ready yet to call it a night. She needed a chance to unwind first, and decided the park would be an excellent choice, especially with the additional foot traffic. So what started as a casual stroll past the jogging trails ended up with her drawn by the rinky-tink sounds of the ride, to find herself staring across a small bridge at the whirling magic of the carousel.    

She paid her admission and waited for her turn to mount the wooden boards when she spotted the ebony-colored horse, its head reared back with golden mane flying and blood-red nostrils flared. There was a sense of power in the horse’s stance, defiance in the tilt of its beautifully carved head and prancing hooves. That one, Ginnie had decided, was hers.   

The horse began its descent as the ride slowly moved forward. Fascinated by the play of the lights on its glossy hide, she ran her fingers over the smoothness, noting how the figure still felt warm from the heat of the day…or was it from the countless bodies carried during its numerous rides?   

A plaque passed by. She barely managed to catch a glimpse of it, but she already knew what it said: ESTABLISHED 1888

About the time Zebulon would have been a child, and twenty or so years before he was turned.

She reveled in the gentle movement. Is this how it felt for you, Zeb? When you were a boy, sneaking over here in the middle of the night? Was the wood still warm when you sat on it?   

Turning around, she saw that the artist had carved handfuls of fruits along the edges and emerging from the back of the saddle—deep purple and green grapes, bright yellow bananas, oranges, pears, and lemons. All looking so real, so tempting. She looked overhead to see her reflection stare back at her in countless diamond-shaped mirrors embedded in the ceiling of the awning. Above the open canopy, the full moon glowed almost as brightly as the incandescent bulbs.

The full moon. His life now revolved around the phases of the moon, and on nights like this, he would be out and about. 

Are you out looking for me? Expecting me to be at my apartment, but worried because I’m not there?

She tried to peer out into the park as the carousel gained speed, but the lights only extended a few feet past the sidewalk that ringed it before being swallowed up in the velvet darkness. The sight became a dizzying blur if she tried to watch it for too long.

Closing her eyes, Ginnie clutched the large brass pole with both hands and laid her cheek against its cool, comforting surface. The ever-flowing up-and-down motion was intoxicating, lulling her with its smooth, rhythmic glide. The night winds ran warm fingers over her face and through her hair, pressing her blouse and jeans closer to her body. The gentle rise and fall was exciting in a way she couldn’t explain, and she realized with a smile how much happiness she’d forgotten she could find in a child’s simple diversion. Pressing her knees tighter against the sides of her steed, she secretly wished she could stay there for hours.   

Please, just a little longer. Let me pretend you’re here with me, sharing with me this feeling, this moment that allows me to make-believe I’m as ageless as you. And the both of us are riding forever into the night without fear, and without the pressure of time.   

Too soon, the carousel began to wind itself to a stop to allow for the next set of riders. She debated whether to go again, but knew she took the chance of losing her favorite midnight stallion if she went to pay for another ticket. Besides, tomorrow was another workday. She needed to go home and to bed.   

Reluctantly, she dismounted, gave one last affectionate rub to the glossy rump, and stepped rather shakily onto the gravel walkway. It took a minute for her to regain her shore legs.    

Moving to the sidewalk, she watched until the ride started up once more. Then, digging her hands into the pockets of her jeans, she turned and began to follow the wide cement path that led out of the park and toward her apartment building.   

It wasn’t until she reached the park lamp at the entrance that she could feel a presence nearby. With it, a feeling of contentment washed over her, echoing her own self-satisfaction. Ginnie squinted at a group of trees just off the trail when a dark figure detached itself from them. Immediately, without further thought, she ran past the copse and into a pair of strong, waiting arms.   

“You’re supposed to be Brooklyn!” she half-accused, burying her face in his soft leather jerkin.   

“And you were supposed to be in Albany,” Zebulon reminded her with a teasing tone. He held her fiercely yet lovingly against him as she clutched the edges of his cloak.   

Lifting her face, she stared into his, noting the strong jawline, the long, ivory-colored teeth, and dark eyes that seemed to see into her soul. Not detecting the smell of blood told her he hadn’t fed yet, and she smiled. He knew she couldn’t stand the sight or scent of it after he’d gotten his fill. Which meant he had sought her out first before leaving her to search for his next meal.

“I got through early, so I caught the last shuttle flight back. I’ve missed you, Zeb.”   

“I felt you return,” he explained softly. “It’s been such a long two weeks, I couldn’t wait to see you. But I have to go back tomorrow to finish the job.”   

Ginnie understood. “I came here, thinking of you, and found myself by your carousel.” A little laugh. “I haven’t ridden a carousel in years. But tonight, I couldn’t resist.” She lifted her arms to wrap them around his strong neck when a sharp, biting odor came to her, and she grinned. “My hands smell metallic, like the pole I was holding,” she apologized.   

Zebulon lowered his mouth to where he could nuzzle her cheek and the sensitive skin near her ear. A playful breeze tossed a leather thong from his cloak across her eyes, and as she rubbed her cheek against his, she wondered if he could tell she also smelled of paint and old wood, of perfume thick from her perspiration, and traces of the detergent she washed her clothes in.

“Did you enjoy it?” he murmured.   

Behind him, she caught sight of the full moon hanging near the horizon as it readied itself for its ascent. “Yes. Too much, I’m afraid.” She lightly laughed. “This place has a magical quality to it, especially with the full moon.”

He glanced upward, then back to find it. “Ah. The Thunder Moon.”

“The what?”

“The Thunder Moon. It signals the summer storms that will soon appear. I’ve also heard it called the Buck Moon.”

“Why is it called that?”

“This is the time of year when the new antlers emerge from a buck’s forehead, so he’ll be prepared to defend his does when rutting season rolls around.” His arms tightened around her. “Never fear walking out here alone, beloved. I may not have antlers, but I will protect and defend you until your dying day.”

She smiled. She knew he would. He never broke his promise. Lifting her lips, she silently implored him for a kiss. Zebulon gladly granted her wish. Despite the distinctive coolness of his skin, his mouth was warm. Better yet, when he grew passionate, he was extra careful not to let his unique teeth harm her.

She broke away first and pressed her forehead to his chest. “I wish,” Ginnie whispered, bringing him back from his reverie, “you could have been there with me.”   

“In Albany?”   

“No. On the carousel. On the horse next to mine. I wish we could have shared the moment together. The joy, the wind, the music and the lights. Feeling like we were children again.”   

Another breeze rattled the leaves in the trees above them, but his answer was a pulse singing in her ear. “Who says we can’t?”

She jerked her eyes up at him. “But…the lights. The mirrors.”

“If it will make you happy, I will gladly make the sacrifice. However, before I do…” He started to release her, but she gripped his cloak more tightly.

“No. Don’t go. Not yet.”

“I will return,” he assured her. “But you know I cannot go into that brightness without feeding first.”

“I know.” She smiled and reached up to guide his face down to her sweaty neck. “Take what you need, my love.”

He paused. “But only enough to allow us to remain together a while longer,” he swore.

Ginnie nodded. And when he opened his mouth to take her this time, she felt nothing but total happiness.

Linda's Website

June Vignette - "Strawberry Moon" by Linda Mooney

"Strawberry Moon" “Straw-berry Moon, shi-ning in June…” Grabbing his pencil, Stuart jotted the notes down on the sheet of notebook paper with its hand-drawn staff. Picking his guitar back up, he continued. “Months with my love aren’t enough.” He paused, then tried again. “This time with my love’s not enough. Okay, that sounds better,” he muttered, and wrote the words down on the paper.  There was a knock on the bedroom door before it opened, and China stuck her head around the door. She took in the sight of him sitting on the foot of the bed, spiral notebook beside him, and smiled. “What are you doing?” 

“Writing a song.” 

“Oh? What about? How to get out of emptying the dishwasher?” 

He made a show of slapping his forehead with the palm of his hand and groaning. “I knew there was something I forgot to do!” He started to lay the guitar on the bed when she held up a hand to stop him. 

“Never mind. I’ve already done it.” She stared again at the instrument. “You haven’t touched that thing in ages. Why all of a sudden are you interested in it again?” 

“I told you. I’m writing a song.” 

She nodded, but he got the impression she didn’t believe him. 

“No. Really,” he continued. “In fact, I’m entering it in the KGKW song contest.” 

She lifted an eyebrow at him. “You’re entering a song contest.” 

“Grand prize winner has their song recorded by Lowvington.” 

“Lowvington? The country and western duo?” 

He grinned. “Yep!” 

“You really believe you can write a country song they’ll like enough to record,” she flatly stated again. 

“Why not? I think I have just as good a chance as anyone else. Besides, the contest is open to non-professionals.” 

She let out a bark of laughter. “Then you oughta win. You’re as non-professional as they come. So what’s your song about?” 

“The Strawberry Moon.” 

She looked perplexed. “The full moon?” 

“Yep. This month the full moon’s called the Strawberry Moon.” 

“Oookay.” 

“It’s also been called the Hot Moon, and the Rose Moon.” 

“For its color?” 

He scratched the side of his nose with the pencil’s eraser. “I think it’s more because of something to do with strawberries. Either this is the month they bloom, or you’re supposed to plant them this month, or the strawberries are in season this time of year. Hell, I don’t know for certain, but the entry has to be in by June fifteenth.” 

“And the winner will be announced…” 

“June twenty-eighth.” 

“And the winner’s song will be released…” 

He grinned again. “June thirtieth.” 

“Mighty short time frame to cut a record, isn’t it?” 

Stuart shrugged. “Not my problem.” 

“So what made you decide to do this?” 

“I dunno. Got the inspiration, I guess. It’s been a while since I wrote anything.” 

“Even longer since you performed, back in your college days.” Her eyes dropped to the guitar. “So what’s your strawberry song about?” 

He shrugged. “What are most country songs about?” 

“Trains, trucks, huntin’ dogs, lost loves, cheatin’ spouses, hard drinkin’, or country livin’. Did I leave anything out?” She was teasing him, and they both knew it. 

“More like true love.” 

“Oh?” She tilted her head. “Anybody I know?” 

“Yeah. My mother.” 

She laughed at that one. “All right. So don’t tell me. But in case you don’t win, will I eventually get to hear it?” 

“Yeah. I’ll treat you to a personal private concert.” 

She pointed a finger at him. “You’re on. By the way, I came to tell you supper’s on the table.” 

“Be there in a sec,” he promised. 

In actuality, he broke his promise. Having picked up the guitar to resume his composition, he lost track of time. It wasn’t until he heard the TV in the living room that he remembered he was supposed to have gone to eat. Chagrined, he went into the kitchen and found his place still set on the small dinette. All except for his plate, which she’d filled and placed in the microwave for him to warm up. 

After he finished his meal, he cleared the table, and put his dishes in the dishwasher before starting it. Then he returned to the bedroom to continue working. 

At some point, his wife knocked again on the door again. This time she walked in. “I hate to disturb you when you’re in the middle of a streak of creativity, but somebody has to get up early tomorrow and go to work.” She tapped the notebook. “Care to take this into the living room?” 

“Nah. I need to let it stew overnight. Give me a fresh perspective in the morning so I can finish it.” 

She smiled at him over her shoulder as she undressed. “How’s it going?” 

“It’s going.” That’s all he would say. One way or another, he wanted the end result to be a complete surprise. He had no hopes of winning, but that wasn’t the point of composing the piece. China’s birthday was July first, and he planned to serenade her on that special day. 

The following morning, he cleaned up their breakfast dishes. After that, he brought his guitar and spiral notebook into the living room. By the time his wife got home from work, he’d finished the song and was making a clean copy to send to the radio station.  

“Still gonna make me wait to hear it?” China teased. 

He grinned. “You’re welcome to read it.” 

She snorted. “You know I can’t read music.” 

“Then read the words.” 

“I think I’ll wait until we find out who won.” 

No more was said about the song. On the evening of the twenty-eighth, the two of them turned on the radio to await the results. China reached over to take his hand, giving it a squeeze. “Don’t be upset if you don’t win.” 

“I won’t,” he confessed. “Actually, I’m pretty proud of myself. I picked up my guitar for the first time since college, and I wrote a song.” He smiled at her. “It felt good.” 

She returned the smile. “I’m pretty proud of you, too.” 

“Now for the moment you’ve all been waiting for,” radio personality Irwin Carmichael broadcasted. “And to announce our winner, let’s welcome Grammy award-winning duo, Lowvington! Thanks for coming, guys!” 

“We’re delighted to be here,” Buck Lowvington said.  

“I heard you two had a difficult time coming to a decision as to the winning song,” Carmichael stated. 

“We had hundreds of entries,” Cynthia Lowvington declared. “So many of them were so good. So, yeah, we had a hard time narrowing it down to one.” 

“Well, I know our listening audience is sitting on the edge of their seats. Who will do the honors?” 

“I will,” Buck offered. “The winning song is entitled ‘Livin’ the Country Dream,’ and was written by Ernest Bookings of Tramherst, Illinois.” 

“Congratulations, Mr. Bookings!” Carmichael crowed. “Can we get a little taste of what it sounds like before its official release in two days?” 

“Sure thing,” Buck agreed. “I brought my guitar just for that. Here we go, ladies and gents. A little preview from ‘Livin’ the Country Dream’ by Ernest Bookings.”  

He strummed a few chords, then he and his wife, Cynthia, began singing. “I’m a country kiiiing. She’s a country queeen! And together, we’re livin’ the country dreeeam!” 

“You gotta admit. It’s got a catchy beat to it,” China remarked. She leaned over to kiss her husband’s cheek. “Even though you didn’t win the contest, you did with me, honey. You’ve made a major breakthrough, and I couldn’t be more proud of you.” 

He chuckled. “I gotta admit, it felt good. It felt… Hell, it felt fantastic, doing something I used to do. Knowing I still got the chops.” 

The demonstration didn’t last long, when Cynthia Lowvington spoke. 

“That’s not all, Irwin,” the woman informed him. “Like we said, we had literally hundreds of entries. Our purpose, of course, was to find one we felt would be a good fit for us, and maybe become a solid hit.” 

Buck took over. “Remember back in the day when songs used to be pressed into wax and released on forty-five RPM records?” 

Carmichael chuckled. “Now you’re dating me. But, sure, I remember those days.” 

“There was an A side to a record that was supposed to get the most air play and be the hit,” Buck continued. “The B side was recorded as a backup mostly. But some B sides got enough air play to become a hit, too. The Beatles were very adept at that game.” 

“What are you trying to tell our listening audience?” Carmichael asked.  

“There’s one entry that struck me where it counts the most. Here, in the heart,” Cynthia confessed. “It wasn’t our grand prize winner, but I couldn’t get the words out of my head. So I convinced Buck to release it as a solo piece.” 

“Really!” 

“No band. No orchestra. Nothing but me and my six-string,” Buck said. 

“Tell us more,” Carmichael urged. “What’s it called? Who wrote it?” 

“It’s called ‘Strawberry Moon,’ and it was written by a man named Stuart Paget,” Cynthia revealed. “Mr. Paget, if you’re out there listening right now, thank you for this beautiful testament to love.” 

China gasped, a hand to her mouth. She turned tear-filled eyes to her husband. He nodded. “Just listen.” 

The man played the first few chords, fingering them slowly like he was caressing the strings. 

“I don’t deserve the kind of love you always give to me. I don’t deserve the patience and understanding that comes with it. But if there is a God above who grants the wishes and dreams of losers like me, he proved it tonight…with the brightest full moon in the sky. 

“Strawberry Moon, shining in June, showing the light of love in my woman’s eyes. Having the faith, and giving me hope when I was reaching the end of my rope.   

“This time I have with my love will never be enough…”  

The singer’s voice trailed off.  

“Go on,” Carmichael urged. “Don’t stop there.” 

“Oh, but I have to,” Buck countered. “You’re gonna hafta wait for the record to come out to see how it ends. And, trust me, you’re gonna wanna hear how it ends.” 

Stuart looked over to find tears sliding down his wife’s cheeks. “They mispronounced my name,” he softly remarked. 

“They always do,” she replied brokenly, reaching for him. 

He grabbed her around the waist and pulled her into the wheelchair and into his lap where she softly sobbed against his neck. Stroking her hair and back, he tenderly sang, “When I came back from overseas, I was a broken man. But your love made me whole again. You’ve shown me over and over, and day after day, how lucky I am.  

“So, Strawberry Moon, shining in June, keep showing the light of love in my woman’s eyes. Having the faith, and giving me hope when I was reaching the end of my rope.   

“This time I have with my love will never be enough… But as long as I can spend the rest of that life with her, I’ll know that I’ve been blessed.” 

He kissed her forehead and continued to hold her. He’d never been overly demonstrative with his emotions, but he’d finally found a way to express those feelings in a way she and the whole world could understand. And accept. 

Closing his eyes, he smiled.  Linda's Website