She told me she lived on the moon.
“It is the most beautiful planet in the galaxy,” she said. “It’s all washed in soft silver light and surrounded by darkness on all sides. There is no sound, no voices. It’s so quiet you can her the stars singing. They sing to the world. It’s empty of life, but oh is it wonderful. I am the ruler of a beautifully desolate land.”
“All right, moon-princess.” I would say, then laugh and tell her to lock up her imagination before it ran away.
Amaris was my neighbor. She lived one door down at number 11, the old white house with the roof garret and two weeping willows in front. I’m not really sure when she moved in. One day it was empty and the next she was there in her big hat, hanging colored glass bottles in her trees and feeding all the neighborhood cats.
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