First Quarter High

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Moonset is drawing nigh, and Lara Babe’s been getting high on Granddaddy Purple, and sepia memories. She steps out onto the patio, and into October sheathed in down feather warmth. Against the black the moon illuminates borrowed amber, and casts a candle flame path upon the lake that stretches from horizon to shore. “If only I could walk on water to meet you.”

Lara likes the taste of cognac at midnight. Tonight, she raises the snifter, a salute to her lover lost, and swirls the spirits, golden caramel–translucent. The fire light’s reach reduces by the seconds as the moon’s descension accelerates. “It’s like watching the world end.”

In the dark, she sniffs the bouquet of pear, dried fruits, and almonds. “Here’s to peaceful death, my darling.” She’s made up her mind. She tosses back the snifter, and when it’s drained, drinks straight from the bottle until it’s empty. Oh, sweet Lara Babe, when she stumbles down to the beach and into the water, she doesn’t even feel the cold.

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