Clarity: a summer evening. Pale darkness, clear air—that scent of wet water from recent rain and lawn sprinklers, of wet grass. The soft hissing of sprinklers. The soft hissing of the weak fountain sprouts in the big pool.
A full moon, big, fat, bright and silver, snowy white, pure and beautiful. So bright we don’t need lamps. Walking, running, ducking under branches we needn’t have ducked under in the first place—but it’s fun to pretend we’re older, and bigger. Laughing. Whispering, shouting, stepping over fallen things and loose bricks and random bits of litter. Making up stories. Candles.
Always candles. Candles left by someone else, a wax candle heart made by someone else mere hours before we came. Or minutes. Melted wax that spell words we can’t read—but it’s fun to pretend we see things in them anyways.
Moon cakes under a full moon. Sweet, soft lianrong. The yolk filling that we don’t want. Fireflies and bugs. For just a few nights (or was it weeks?) there were fireflies. Cold stone benches around the big pool that matched the white tiles underfoot.
Crickets—coo, coo, coo. A B-note, or was it a G? Shadows, reflections, ripples in the water.
Stars are scarce, but even the clouds clear away just for these nights. When every bush hides a mystery and every moon, a story. We know nothing but the world is clear to us. Clarity. Simple clarity. The sweet smell of wet grass on summer nights.
20 May 2014
By Ariel Mo