The Moon

by Zoe Rose

A Star

Once, but not just once (as life is both short and infinitely cyclical), there was a young girl named Stella, which is Latin for star. Her mother, a kindly and beautiful woman, would call her “My Stella, my star”. So she believed she was one, and so she was.

Stella was a very clever girl, she could read from a very young age, and count too. She understood much more than you or I about art, science, and even mathematics.

A Wish

As clever and as beautiful as she was, Stella often wished she were something other than herself. Sometimes she wished she were a man, so the clips of her beard could fall peacefully upon her sink, which her loving wife would silently sweep into the bin.

Sometimes she wished she were a queen, one who wore glamorous garments, woven by dozens of steady nymphs, just for her, so that she may dress herself in them and look upon herself in her gilded mirror and sigh in satisfaction.

Other times, she wished she were one of her mother’s china plates, carefully locked away in the cupboards. Only to be taken out on the most special of occasions, like birthdays and New Years. Impressive, gleaming white, and forbidden.

But more than that, more than all her wishes, and more than all the stars, Stella wished she were the moon. She had learned, that while the sun was simply another star, like herself and like all the other billions in the universe, the Earth was guided by but one moon. Stella knew of how the moon controls the tides and the body’s pull toward the ground. And, as the moon governs the oceans and seas, and seeing how humans, we know, are made mostly of water, Stella spent hours pondering the limitless ways in which the moon could mold humanity.

Stella wished to be the moon, and what good is a young girl’s wish, she thought, without it being granted? While she was proficient in math and science and all the other things we learn in school, Stella knew nothing of magic. She had heard of the ways magic could transform a human, and she had read stories of great and powerful witches who could grant any wish with a few simple words. So, being clever, Stella thought she could learn to harness the earth’s magics, those which very few had truly learned to shape.

First, Stella made her way to the library archives, into the darkest aisles of the stacks of books, where dust covered every stationary thing. The library was so old that many of the deeper, unused or avoided sections did not have the new electric lights becoming popular throughout her city. Stella stood in a darkened corridor of the library, the aisles lined with unlit kerosene lamps, which were also covered in the same dust as the untouched books of magic. Because she was always prepared, Stella reached into her pocket for a box of matches. Being careful not to set aflame to the countless invaluable, untouched books around her, Stella lit one.

A Vision

She appeared in such a flurry of majesty that Stella had to blink twice to be sure of what she saw before her. She did not wear adornments of the kind Stella had come to believe were the sure markers of a witch or sorceress. The woman who appeared to Stella wore a kind face and plain clothes, much like Stella’s own.

“It’s been ages since any sign of life was felt here,” said the witch, “Not a breath breathed nor a match struck nor a wish…wished.” The witch seemed to hover in air, although Stella was certain she could see her feet firmly planted on the ground.

“Are you here to grant my wish to be the moon?” Stella spoke carefully, not wanting to assume what kind of magic lay behind the witch’s face, soft and gentle. “I have wished and wished to be the moon, I have learned all about her beauty, of how she pulls the tides, how she shines in the night as though she were illuminated by some kind of glorious light.

“Your wish to be the moon!”, laughed the witch, “Oh, my darling, you wish too highly, a witch such as myself could never grant that kind of wish.”

Stella, fearing the witch would leave her again, in such a whirlwind as she appeared, cried out “If you cannot grant my wish, please teach me how, so I may do it myself!”

The Witch

The witch was from the kind of place which had never been seen by a hunter’s eye. A place so deep in the forest’s lush groves of trees and swamp that maps had not been drawn of the intricate, flower swept fields of the witch’s grotto. Here she lived, in harmony with the earth’s quiet, comforting hum. While she was kind, the witch was of a powerful sort, and this she knew.

The witch led Stella through the forest, her feet making no imprints upon the wild stretches of grass and weed along the way. Stella however, could not tread with the care and patience of the witch. She wandered along, clumsily, behind the witch, with each step her feet sinking further and further into the murky ground.

“Here you are,” declared the witch, “Here in the woods is where the moon’s shine reaches the furthest and the most powerfully.”

Stella wandered into the open field, where she could look up and see the trees parted by the sky. The setting sun shone through the branches and the edges of leaves. In her hands she held one of the witch’s books, and from within it, Stella could feel the electricity of its power.

Into the tangle of leaves the witch departed through the forest, back to her safe, silent home within the land beyond the field Stella stood in.

Stella stood in the field, and recited the words from the witch’s book, just as she had been taught. But more than that, more than the most powerful books of magic hidden within every library, Stella wished to be the moon.

And so she was.

The Moon

As Stella shone above the earth, she was delighted. Delighted by her cleverness, by how she was more powerful than the witch who had met her in the library. In her delight she shone above her city. Above each city, above every home much like her own. Above every mother and every daughter, above every school and church.

And so she goes on, reflecting brilliantly the sun’s hot rays. Unlike any young girl, Stella’s life is eternal, as eternal as the moon and the sun. As eternal as all the stars in the sky.

But Stella, unlike any of the stars in the sky which are fixed by the cosmos together into constellations, the earth has but one moon. While hovering above the whole, round globe, she can barely glimpse at the people within the walls of their houses. She does shine above the earth, but only because she is merely a reflection of the brightness of a star.

Sometimes she wishes she could hear her mother’s words “My Stella, my star”, but she has run out of wishes. All the cleverness and all the wishing in the world cannot cure the loneliness of the moon.

When you look up at night, where ever you are in the world, but especially when the moon is full, you may be able to see the outline of Stella’s face etched into the surface of the moon. The stars surrounding her like thousands of tiny, glowing tears.