Moonbeam

When I arrived, there were still several donkeys waiting for their tardy riders, the late ones, those who had overslept or dawdled along the trail, like I did. I never could resist smelling every flower and stopping to hug a tree or two.

Most of the animals were donkey dun-like in color. Their brown eyes were soulful and their long ears flicked at passing insects. One in particular though caught my eye. She was light in color, almost cream. The black line across her shoulders and down her back stood out against the lightness of her coat... I could see why they called it a cross … that's exactly what it looked like … the cross that Jesus carried. Now, I'm not religious so I wasn't going to allow that to sway me toward choosing her above the others. She took a couple of steps toward me then, stopped, as if too shy to approach. I wasn't shy though so I walked slowly toward her. When I took hold of her bridle, she looked soulfully into my eyes. She was little, too little, I thought, to bear this burden of a body on a long journey. But, since I liked to stop frequently and walk, I figured we would manage despite her delicacy.

I asked the donkey keeper what I should call her. The woman, a crone, was in fact ageless and looked more donkey than human. "She has no name," she said. "You can call her what you will."

I looked at the small but willing animal. "I shall call you Moonbeam." Did I detect a smile on her funny little face or was my imagination working overtime?

I led Moonbeam to where I had left my rucksack and case and strapped them onto her back. When I mounted her, my feet hung almost to the ground. She was the beast and I was the burden. We headed off into the woods, making for the trail that would take us through the mountains and to our next destination. Moonbeam's hooves trod gently upon the trail, barely making a sound. She seemed to know the way with no direction from me.

We stopped beside a small spring and drank of the fresh, sweet water that issued from it.
Moonbeam waited for me to mount again, but I shook my head. "You lead and I will follow," I said. She seemed to understand, but waited for me to walk beside her.

The journey was uneventful, we walked together, trotted together, and stopped frequently for a bite to eat, and even a nap here and there.

Before we were halfway there our tranquil journey was interrupted by a band of hooded riders who insisted I ride, not walk. I mounted, and despite being scared to death managed to whisper a few words of encouragement to Moonbeam.

I reached back into the case and pulled out a set of wings. I fastened them to Moonbeam's bridle and before I could say giddy-up, I was flying above the treetops while below, the masked riders whirled about in confusion. We continued to fly until the mountains fell behind us. We approached our destination, the House of the Serpent, and when we landed, I dismounted, unloaded my rucksack and case, told Moonbeam to stay, and went to check-in leaving my meager baggage on the ground beside her.

When I returned, my baggage was where I had left it but Moonbeam was nowhere to be seen. I asked the donkey keeper, an old man with a long, white beard if he had seen Moonbeam. "No donkey by that name 'round 'ere," he said.

I explained that Moonbeam was different in color, almost white with a distinctive cross.
"No, ma'am, we ain't got any white donkeys hereabouts."

I was sad because I wanted to say goodbye to Moonbeam, thank her, and give her a hug.

That night, as I lay in my sleeping bag and the moonbeams filtered downward through the ceiling of white, fluffy clouds, I thought I heard a distant braying, not the normal donkey sound, but the gentle voice of Moonbeam. I slept peacefully through the night until I awoke refreshed, and strangely joyful.

Vi
©August 19, 2005