Kinder lay himself down on the floor in a square of moonlight. It was so striking that I crawled over from my usual bedtime spot on Kinder's beanbag chair and joined him. First did, too. We marvelled at how quickly the moon had changed to full. We had looked at the moon in all her gibbous, Halloween glory only two nights ago as we walked home from trick-or-treating.
We lay on our backs, looking up at the moon and sang our bedtime songs: Twinkle, Twinkle; Hush Little Alien; This Little Light of Mine; and Baby Beluga. Inspired by our togetherness, bodies warmly snuggled, we moved our arms and hands about to the songs. It was so nice, a lovely change of pace to our normal routine brought about by something as simple and awesome as moonlight.
And then I realized that we were in the exact spot where the window had blown in and landed on Friday night, just six nights ago. My mood faltered just a bit, but then it soldiered on and I went with it. We took back the spot, the moonlight was too irresistable.
