Drabble Twenty-Five

Ghosts of Avalon

From the balcony rotunda at the top of the world, we greet the full moon. Its beams, upon reaching the water, abstract until they are nothing more and nothing less than stars glittering in a second impenetrable sky.

With the arm that does not encircle my waist, you point out smugglers’ ships en route to the mainland, and we hypothesize about their cargo.

And even though it is not yet Halloween, in the ballroom behind us the phantoms twirl and step in a slow waltz around the circle of destiny to the songs that haunt their memories.

Shall we dance?