I remember that night in every detail. It was one of those crisp fresh nights, not particularly cold but with a clean, fresh smell on the breeze, the trees swishing gently and the full moon casting silver light across the lawn.
I’m not sure what it was that woke me, but my eyes opened, and a rush of well-being filled my body from the tips of my toes to the top of my head. I threw back the quilt, hopped out of bed and rushed to the window. The light was beautiful; silver moonbeams filtered through the trees and danced across my garden below. Wasting no more time, I ran down the passage, my nightgown billowing behind me.
Outside all was quiet, except for the gentle rustle of the leaves. They were moving in a delicate dance, fluttering dark then silver as the moonlight washed over them. I needed to dance too, so I began running and jumping with a strange exhilaration, not worried in the least as the cool dew wet the hem of my gown. I was laughing with sheer joy as I felt the wet spiky grass beneath my feet. What a strange sight I would have made. A middle-aged woman in a long pink gown, leaping and laughing, joyously drunk with full moon madness. But there was no one to witness my night of gay abandon, dancing under the moon.
I awoke the following day, back in my bed. I heard the door downstairs open and the cheery voice of Lucy as she called “Good morning”. I heard her tread in the hallway, and then her curly head appeared around the bedroom door. “OK,” she said, “it’s a beautiful morning, let’s get you up,” and with that, she brought my wheelchair over to the side of the bed. As she swung my lifeless legs across the bed, she let out a gasp. “Oh! I am so sorry”, she exclaimed, “I didn’t notice these stains on the hem of your nightgown last night when we got you ready for bed,” I assured her not to worry, it didn’t matter a bit, and while I agreed with her that it was indeed a beautiful morning, I couldn’t wait for the next time we had a full moon.
~Lesley-Anne, 67. Christie Downs, SA