The following is a fairy tale, a new venture for me, which came to me in a series of dreams over the last month.

The full moon was smiling down the night I was born. Her lovely face shone and milky light fell on my mother’s fur as she licked the newness of my pink skin. And although my fur was to grow in as thick and black as night, I was named Lunar in honor of Grandmother Moon. Today my back legs are strong so I can bound through the grass, my eyes are bright so I can see stars in the sky, and my ears are long so I can hear the songs of the trees.

But then I was suddenly alone. One night a bird swooped in from the side and snatched my mother from the earth. I never saw the raptor but it was big and dark and had claws that almost ripped my mother in two. He flew to a great height, but then flung her down. She lay broken on the ground, her body limp and mangled. As I watched, paralyzed with fear, an Old Woman with gentle hands lifted my mother, held her to her breast, and carried her home. There she is now, protected, loved, and growing in strength every day.

I needed a new home, a new mother. One night while hopping down a dark road, I heard a cry. A head of me was a lady, not young but not old, crying out in pain. On her heel was a mouse, its long teeth embedded into her flesh. Blood was dripping down her foot and into the earth. As I watched, The Lady pulled the mouse from her heel, and although the wound was deep, The Lady seemed to grow in strength before my eyes. The wound was oval in shape and as she touched it gently with one finger, she smiled.

And then she saw me. She gathered me in her arms, held me to her breast, and carried me to her home. Two white mice, a white cat, and another rabbit, also white, lived there with The Lady. She took me to her bedroom where she gave me my own special pillow on which to sleep. The Lady was afraid I might run away but I stayed right there, close to my new mother.

The Lady was an artist. She would go into the woods and gather sticks and leaves and mushrooms. Encircled by her sisters, she created a blanket with images of beauty and magic. The blanket grew and grew so long and thick it spread out on the floor and eventually through the door out into the night. They rejoiced in their work and while they sewed they sang songs that sounded like the bubbling of the river and the rustle of the trees. Then at night they would dance, their bodies luminous, in the moonlight.

The Lady was pregnant. Her face shone with a milky light. She gathered much food around her and ate all she could, but shared with her sisters too. While she sat with her hand on her belly, I curled to sleep in her lap.  As I grew so did the baby in her womb. When the girl-child was born I was laid beside her to protect her and to keep her warm. I held her to my breast, and while whispering songs of Grandmother Moon in her ear, carried Her home to her heart.

© Joanna Tebbs Young: Wisdom Within, Ink

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