In the light of the moon
Two strange things happened that day.
On the cusp of the new moon, Sarah felt the life draining from her bones. She didn’t want to feel powerless; a nothingness, but she did. She felt as if the very dust of the soil had a life of its own and it was a dominating aura.
Sarah knew things. She knew that the river sprouted in the mountains and that cold, hard snow gave yielding life to the land. She knew that the bees were her friends’. That the fields of wheat were the source of unbending, quivering light. Life!
She knew things.
People came from near and far to sit at her table and listen to her stories; her memories…
There was power in that. Those reverent souls; hanging on her every word.
But the planets were not aligned. The moon rode, rude and obvious in the sky; the hue of its shadow tainted with a wisp of portency.
Sarah listened. She’d always been aware.
This was different.
Dew scattered in the sunlight in an entirely unique pattern; light catching its sparkle without dazzle. Odd!
Sarah watched the moon; she wanted to ride on its silvery tail. She wanted to dance in its pooling light, but lack of energy left her numb.
Then she realized that her stories, her experiences, her lessons—learned at the knee of necessity—were her only strength.
Wild mushrooms grew under the umbrella of stately trees in the vista of her imaginings. Clouds congregated and dispersed at will. Seeds germinated, struggled to reach the sun, then regrew as if it were a miracle. She relaxed her mind, she allowed the sweet melody in; a song with a repetitive refrain.
Sarah needed a vessel. She needed a soft, pliable host.
Her lights dimmed, ominously.
At first it was just the moon, but then..
She heard the deafening cry as her son praised the elements, when his daughter burst forth into the world.
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