my ceiling fan is on. it rotates lazily, the soft whoosh of its wings barely stirring the stillness that has settled with the lilac walls of my room. the heat of august is at once comforting and unbearable; a bead of sweat trails down my neck, and it is caught in a single wisp of hair that has escaped the messy bun sat atop my head.
soft, off-white sheets clothe my bed. the covers are crumpled, pushed hastily to the side, covering only the couple of stuffed animals sprawled out near my side. my childhood yet surrounds me, evident in the cabinet of too-small clothes and well-loved toy companions standing guard, as well as in the book of fairytales haphazardly placed atop my nightstand and the pink-blue-pastel cinderella clock next to it. the passage of time is marked in the dips of my mattress, which curves to fit my spine.
i cannot sleep tonight. i sit up in bed, turn on the light, and soft brightness casts shadows on the walls, on the ceiling, on my skin. the fan spins and spins, but the small currents it sends rippling through the air are nowhere near enough. i seek cool relief. my limbs unfold; i pad to my balcony door and pull it open. night spills into my room - cool, cool night that brings with it the constant chirping of crickets, the sun-dried scent of golden, dying grasses, the faint rumble of an airplane disturbing the stars in the distance.
i step out onto my balcony. the tableau of my cul-de-sac lays itself out beneath me, breathing deeply and stretching its skin in the movement of the palm trees flanking each house. the moon greets me, shedding gentle light onto the strands of my hair and my fingertips. tonight is an astronomical rarity, a blue moon. once in a blue moon, sing the stars, once in a blue moon, murmurs the breeze. once in a blue moon, roars a far-away car. once in a blue moon, i whisper into the night.