Meadow Crossing, Part 3 (Fiction)

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       Amanda pressed her hand to the pages. She smoothed them hard in frustration. No use. Laughter rose from below. Commotion shook the walls.
       She set the book aside and sighed.
       Beyond her window, milky blue captivated the world. She drank it, even through its pang of loneliness. She closed her eyes. She let it pour into her skin. Twilight was hers.
       But the coming night was his.
       The moon hung low, preparing to rise, and Amanda thanked it. On those nights, it mirrored the sun. Climbing, and climbing, it gleamed as skies drained black.
       She leaned toward the glass. She emptied herself over the land and its spectral light, vast and secret.
       Then, she saw him. Moving in the trees. A confidence striding through the darkness.
       Her heart quickened as he slipped from the shadows. The silvery showers of moonlight rained over him.
       Despite the cold light, a warmth flowed to her fingertips. The way he moved. Strong, but careful. And when he bent his face to the sky, his face sculpted her dreams.
       She wondered what he was thinking as he studied the moon.
       And wished.
       Someday she might earn a place in the majesty of his thoughts.

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