Pudding Moon

There was a yellow custard in the sky.
It wakened me, strangely caught in the branches outside my window
I squinted, looked with one eye at a time, tried to go back to sleep
Balelessly, without malicious intent, ruthful, still, it kept me awake

I sat up.

I opened the window.

Bats were flitting, the creek's low murmur was just audible above the frogs' cacophony
The air was crisp and the pudding solidified into a solemn moon
Wise, wide face benignly surveying the post-midnight landscape

I laid back down and let the open-window lullaby lull me back to sleep
I swear the moon winked just as I closed my eyes.