We never imagined life without them. Then one day, with no eruption or rending of earth, Poof — peaks, slopes and valleys are fields, forests and plains; placid ponds and lakes are cascading streams and falls.
People, places and animals are unscathed ‘though a few disoriented goats begin hopping atop each others’ backs, seeking higher ground.
Some call the disappearance a warning, but of what no one knows. Scientists claim the explanation eludes their avalanche of equations.
Skiers stare at waxed slats and cradle their boots like puppies. Artists fold their easels and brush their strokes at the sea. Rock climbers settle for walls in malls. Nature lovers lower expectations. Even flyover folks feel a flatness in their chests.
Without the mountains, the jet stream wobbles like a tipsy ballerina. Weather patterns tango. Deserts and meadows change partners. The wind doesn’t know if it’s coming or going.
Time folds, and we trudge on, hoping our anchors will return as they left — in a blink. But it’s harder to keep the faith since the moon’s begun to flicker.
We thought we’d always have the moon.
David Henson and his wife have lived in Brussels and Hong Kong and now reside in Illinois. His work has been nominated for four Pushcart Prizes, Best of the Net and two Best Small Fictions and has appeared in various journals including Maudlin House, Gastropoda, Literally Stories, Pithead Chapel, Gone Lawn, and Moonpark Review. His website is http://writings217.wordpress.com. His Twitter is @annalou8.
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