The moon was round and full and bursting with cold light. I could see the change of season in it, the thousand years of bounty that it stood for, the pay off at the end of a hot summer.
The harvest moon.
I got to a building, floating, and called and called to be let in. Walked to the top of the stairs, closer, out onto the roof, closer, if I raised my arm I could touch it.
And then I went inside the moon. Just crawled right in through a little hole at the bottom. All I brought with me was a bottle of wine. Inside, it looked like I expected it to look, all white and safe, with blankets on the ground and moon-people milling around in jackets and boots.
The walls of the moon were waves, rolling with the wind, and the band started to play. She sang, and he sang, and the drums and the guitars and everything made noise and the inside of my head was like the inside of the moon, warm and safe and with blankets on the ground.