dreamed the moon on fire

I was with my sister Shruti on the Ngong Hills escarpment in Kenya, overlooking the Great Rift Valley. As children, we made regular family excursions to the viewing point, on full moon nights, to watch the moon rise over the Rift.

The moon had risen and we had a journey to go on. I was impatient to leave, but Shruti said "It's not time yet." I watched a gauzy cloud swirl around the moon, like a chiffon scarf, and thought "We're going to be late!" Then I looked at Shruti. The wind streamed through her hair, blew it straight back behind her. Her face in the moonlight was so radiant and certain, my irritation dissolved.

Suddenly, flames shot out of the moon. They leapt through the cloud scarf, devoured it, until the whole moon was exposed, blazing with fire, but somehow still cool and luminous. I laughed out loud at the wonder of it, cried "Shruti, look! The moon's on fire!"

"That means it's time," said Shruti. "Now we can go."