His paddle dips into the top of the water, rises, and from its edge heavy droplets are set free.

A silvery substance surfs on the surface, folding and bending on itself. The grey light of the moon glistens in eager eyes, inspiring shoulders to lift the paddles again and again. Her face is drenched in droplets and his cuts the crisp air. It grows in size and brilliance drastically as they near. They drop their paddles, gliding on a course directly towards the center of the shimmering, uneven globe. As the prow of the vessel begins to pierce the change in light, the gelatinous reflection, no, re-creation, of the moon, starts to sink, slowly and steadily. Under the surface, the mutations on the top of the water no longer manipulate the shape of the moon and it becomes again a most spectacular sphere, unaltered by unevenness.

The moon sinks and so too does their certainty. Once again, the achievable drifts off to join the ghosts in the realm of the inaccessible.

This was the third time they neared their goal, only to have the object of desire retreat as soon as it was within arm’s reach. When they began, it was still the size of your average moon-on-water reflection. Viscous enough to lasso and light enough to tow along behind the boat. When they tried, they learned they would need a net, not a simple loop, as the moon kept slipping from the twisted twine and bobbing away. The second time, the refracted light had so grown in brightness, size, and tangibility that the plan transformed out of necessity. Now too big to tow, they concluded they should rather climb onto it and paddle from aboard the now nearly solid water-moon to the nearest shore, which was just visible on the western edge of their field of vision.

As they nudged the moon globule with their big toes, dangling silvery legs over the edge of their boat, they laughed and thought that surely next time they would be ready.