The little boy caught the moon as it fell into his backyard.
“Mom!” he yelled excitedly, tearing in the back door and letting the screen door slam. She wasn’t in the living room, but he could hear the shower upstairs. He ran to the bathroom door. “Mom!” he shouted. “The moon is in the backyard!”
“We can talk when I get out,” she called.
Passing the hallway mirror, the boy saw his disappointed face and shoved his hand into his straight brown hair, then ran to the backyard. The moon was still there, in the middle of the yard. It was a little larger now, taller than him. He tentatively walked toward it and touched it again. It was dusty enough that when he ran around it, dragging his finger on it, it made a ring.
The moon was so lightweight he could push it around the yard. He checked first to make sure it didn’t leave any marks on the ground. His dad would’ve been mad!
He remembered people talking about “the man in the moon,” but he didn’t see a face. He went to his toys and chose two yellow plastic disks for the eyes, a green LEGO rectangle for the nose, and two Lincoln Logs for the mouth.
He stood back to admire the results, then heard the screen door. “Mom, look!” His mother gasped and suddenly dropped to a seated position on the step. Her eyes were wide and she put a hand to her cheek.
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