The Weeping Moon

The Weeping Moon

One night the moon came to visit me while I was sleeping.  She was crying.  Small trickles of moon-tears flowed softly onto the carpet near the open window.  “What ever can be the matter, oh Moon?” I whispered as I moved close to the open window.  “It is my brother, the Sun,” she quietly sobbed.  “I am afraid he no longer loves me.”  “Now why would you say that, Moon?” I responded.  “Surely he loves you.  Is not your own light a steady reflection of his illumination?”  “Truly it is,” she whispered, “and yet I am unsure at times.  It does not always seem so consistent, so steady.  Some nights I wax brightly.  Others, I wane.”  “But could it not be that you yourself are turning away from the Sun, oh Moon?” I asked softly, stroking her slender hands.  “Perhaps it is you who should turn back directly to him.”  The Moon sat silently for a while, clearly miserable and totally unconvinced.  Finally she raised her luminous eyes and asked, “Would you go with me to him and explain to him how deeply I feel and how desperately I need to be reassured?”  I thought for a moment and then nodded assent.  “Yes, of course, I will help you, oh Moon.”  And so with a gentle embrace the Moon carried me off through the open window, and we became one with the stars of the early morning summer sky.

This page last updated September 16, 2008