On the soon to be sterile surface of the moon, His body aching, He wandered up to a mass near the edge of a nearby dune. It resembled snowmen on earth, though this was made of dust and much stouter than what He had seen in pictures. At its base was a plaque bearing a name, Bea; she had been an engineer He remembered. He walked around the slumping dustman where there was a slightly raised patch of moon. He remembered digging it. While digging He remembered John walking up to Him, his pet goat, Brinkley, in tow. "How's it goin'" He heard John ask, "Maa." said Brinkley. BANG, He whirled around, He saw a wall of dust rising in the distance, must've been a meteor He thought. He turned to respond to John, but he wasn't there, nor was the goat or the half dug grave. Instead, there was Bea's face, staring up at Him, strands of red hair dancing around her face, ignorant of the lifeless corpse to which they belonged. He remembered her typical grimace when she saw Him. She'd never come around to Him as John had. He never held it against her though, if His partner had disappeared and a stranger with no experience was their replacement He too would have disliked their very existence.

He covered her back up and walked a little further toward the crest of the crater beside their compound. In previous excursions He used to see how few jumps He could reach it in, but now His joints creaked; even in the low gravity of the moon, His body was feeling the pangs of old age. He wondered if anyone from His home was still alive. Even if they were, He thought, they probably wouldn't remember Him.

As He reached the top He could see the sun peeking above a distant ridge. Below Him, lay the ruins of John's laboratory. Cloaked in the darkness cast by the crater it sat, as pristine as it had been when it was still in use. John had been studying plants. He remembered when John managed to grow grass using only moon soil. "Maa," Brinkley declared. "See, he likes it," John said. "I don't know," Bea gibed, "he seems pretty indifferent to me." "What makes you say that?" he inquired. "Because he's a goat," Bea said. "Maa," Brinkley added. 

BANG. Another cloud of dust, another meteor He thought. Two in one day was rare but not unheard of, He should ask Bea, He thought. He looked around for her and saw He had entered the lab but there was no Bea or John or Brinkley. That was not much of a surprise, but what was a surprise was the green carpet covering the floor. He hadn't remembered that being there when He shut down the lab. As He bent down to inspect it He realized the carpet was made of hundreds of blades of grass, their verdant sheen standing out against the pallid surroundings. As He glanced around the lab, He noticed that grass was not the only plant that had spread. There were lilies sprouting out from the floor tiles, ivies hanging from the overhead lights, casting the room in a lovely green hue, there were crocuses and ferns, liverworts and hyacinths, even what looked like an oak sapling emerging from a chair cushion. The entire lab seemed to be alive, a small oasis of life and color on the barren and wan surface. He could almost see them growing in real time, but that was ridiculous, He thought. After basking in the beauty surrounding Him, He decided to move on. He found the back exit overgrown with thick veins of poison ivy, as He forced the door open, He stumbled out not onto the rocky, dusty surface of the moon, but onto a meadow. Although there was no wind on the moon, the grass seemed to be swaying to and fro. Sparking in Him such joy He had not experienced for a long while, and, as if in a trance He began to dance. Twirling around a large birch that had grown from the inhospitable ground, He swayed back and forth, mimicking the plants beneath Him. He grabbed onto the branch of a large chestnut and launched Himself forward as He had in His youth, back in His forest. He could almost hear the wind rushing by His ears as He traversed His wooded home, squirrels chittering as He flew by. BANG, a cloud of dust arose, this time from His impact into the side of the crater. He shook Himself off, annoyed that His romp had ended, He traversed onward, up the crater's edge, declining to look back. 

Walking along the lunar surface He felt lighter, as if the burden of age had departed Him. He wondered if that was His soul, if He squinted, maybe He could see it escaping this ghastly plain. No luck He thought and began traipsing along some tracks etched into the dust. He followed them for a while until He came to the being that had made them. There it stood, a hulking, ominous mass of metal and rubber, unmoving. Bea had always mocked Him for being wary of it, but He felt that mockery unjustified. In the forest He had never known this sort of creature, its robotic movements and willingness to follow every order unnerved Him. He recalled that Bea's partner had built it. With His newfound lightness, He climbed upon its back. When Bea died He remembered that it almost looked sad. The day after He buried Bea it disappeared. At the time He wondered if it had gone to wherever her partner had gone, now He wondered if it had simply wandered off as He had, possibly to die. Maybe in the creation of this metallic beast, they had imparted a tiny bit of self, He thought. He leapt off its back, bade it farewell, and continued. He walked for a while, eventually coming to a flat open expanse that seemingly went on forever. Bea and John had called this a sea, though He could think of no sea back home that resembled this doldrum. He could feel His body growing weary, He felt tired but not physically. It was as if His being had decided to go on strike until it was allowed to rest. But, He pushed on into the pale nothingness. He took one last look behind Him. He thought He saw something move along the edge of the plain, the beast perhaps, or maybe His mind was going on strike as well. As He walked He pondered His time on the moon; He couldn't remember how He had gotten there. To Him, it seemed like one day He was in the forest and the next He was on the moon. Maybe He had always been on the moon, a being of dust and rock, brought into being by pure entropy. No, He thought, He had always come from the forest. The sun had risen fully above the horizon by now. He could almost feel the beams of sunlight falling through the leaves of a leafy oak and a slight breeze rushing across His chest.

BANG, dust shot up around Him. The rays of sunlight shining through the particulate, forming a mottled shadow upon the moon, prismatic sparkles dancing in front of His eyes like little stars. He began to feel lighter again, the cold, ashen surface running away from Him. As He floated upwards He thought He could make out a squirrel bouncing between clouds of dust; it bounded along beside Him until they came to a large tree. He hadn't seen this in the forest before. It seemed as if it was reaching for the stars, its branches weaving between them until they looked like little fireflies flitting in and out from behind its leaves. It cast a deep shadow, its large roots and snaking branches beckoning Him to rest. As He lay beneath its lush bower, He dreamt of His home. Cicadas singing in chorus with the warblers, a stream meandering along, its minnows splashing around, a place so, so far away from His barren moon that for a second He believed that maybe it had been a dream, and if it was, He thought, He was glad it had been His.