"See that up there?"
"Up where, Daddy?"
"Right there," he said, pointing at the moon that had
risen high above the silhouetted trees.
"That's the moon," said the little girl.
The chilly, early autumn night was such a warm welcome
from an endless summer of tropical, stiflingly humid New
England heat.
"That moon," he said, as he put his arm around her,
and drew her close to him, "belongs to everybody
in the world. Everyone, as soon as they're born,
gets a piece of that moon."
"It's very pretty," she said.
"Well, here's the thing, my darling sweet Daughter. I'm
giving you my piece."
"What?...Why?"
He smiled, and told her, "If I give you my piece,
the moon will be yours."
"How can that be?"
"Because you'll own two pieces of the moon, and
that's more than anyone else has."
"But what if someone else gives their piece away?"
He laughed, kissed her on the cheek, and
said, "That's impossible. Everyone loves their
piece of the moon so much that they would never
give it away...unless they love someone as much
as I love you...and so...that's impossible."
The moon shone brightly in the autumn sky, as
brightly as it ever, and always will.
"It belongs to you."
