Man Of The Moon

First thing I remember I was lying in my bed, couldn't have been no more than one or two. A figure with a triangular head and long, insect-like limbs hovered over me in the darkness. I wasn't afraid. 

Another time I was turning over in bed and I saw a shadow glide across the wall. Eerie and slow. That took me by surprise. I didn't know what a shadow was. To me it was an entity, an enemy. I wailed like a baby because I was one. The insect figure comforted me.

Maybe the shadow was my own, meaning I was scared of my own shadow. It wouldn't be the last time. 

Another time my mother and I sat looking out the window. It was nighttime. The moon was full. Tree branches stretched up against the sky. Stars, clouds, huge patches of dark blue nothing. I had a sense that nighttime was a dense, deep thing, full of strange possibilities. 

My mother was explaining to me that a man had recently gone to the moon. I couldn't quite grasp the meaning, I thought the man was still up there. For a long time afterwards I believed a person claimed residence on that pockmarked ball in the sky. I was vaguely jealous. 

The man in the moon, the man of the moon.

Couldn't we all go live on that moon?