The moon was not far over the horizon; or where he thought the horizon should be. At night, with distant clouds, this is not clearly defined; but there was a small space between the moon and it's twinkling shaft of light. It crossed the water to where he stood. At one point it resembled a long silky nightgown. That bothered him. He expected a larger than life resurrection to rise out of the water, so he walked on farther.
A piece of driftwood bobbed in a small stony pit a nebulous child dug earlier in the day. It was about eight inches long resembling a dugout canoe. He flung it into the water.
Segregating just the right size stones from the bank into his left hand, a dozen in all, he opened fire on the canoe. Several cannon balls splashed around the canoe with only a couple of them hitting the target. It capsized, but righted itself.
He gave up on this and looked north along the shore. Far out in the lake to the right the phantom-like shape of an ore carrier, outlined with tungsten and mercury lights, floated silently on. If only he could steal away on it.
He retraced his steps. The moonbeam's reflection was looking more and more the shape of one he would rather forget that night. The more he worked at snuffing out the thought the harder the resemblance worked to remind him. He kicked off his shoes and ran back to the reeds. The image of light remained in the bay taunting him. The light and shadows draped her in a black, lace, mourning veil.
The sound of people tracking through the woods alarmed him. Flashlights danced between the trees. They were nearly at the opening of the woods when they stopped. A couple of low inarticulate voices parlayed for the rest. Then the lights turned, headed back a few yards and selected another trail to search.
He heard her call. He thought he did. Perhaps it was just an owl. He looked back to the water. There she was, beckoning with her arms, the lady of the moonbeam.an knows about.
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This story was posted to this site July 24, 2017