Like the Man in the Moon

Friendly and demonic. Terrifying and comforting.

Throughout my childhood, they were always watching over me, staring down into my room. Transformed by every gust of wind, a smile could turn threatening in an instant, and hungry fangs could just as quickly become a warm laugh. They were constantly shaken and warped and rearranged -- from face to face to ever-changing face.

Fuelled by my unconscious imagination and a quirk of the human brain, the leaves of the trees outside my window, together with the patches of sky between them, became a strangely shifting crowd of faces that I found endlessly fascinating.