The moon had been quite content;
floating amongst all the stars. The stars were pretty, each one was different,
and she never saw the same one twice. They never stayed long, the stars, they
didn’t stop more than a brief moment on their journeys; and though they were
shining and silver, the moon rarely followed them when they left. Sometimes, if
they were particularly bright, she might stay up to watch them fading in the
dawn light, gently sparkling on the edge of the blue.
One morning after she had stayed
up late, quite by accident, the moon caught sight of the sun. She gasped, all
in awe, when she witnessed his beauty. Tender and caressing, like her own light,
at first, he shone over the edge of the horizon, but as he rose higher and
higher in the morning sky, he became more fierce and intense, stronger and
passionate. The moon almost cried. He lit up the darkness in a way no star had
ever done. It took her by the heart and she floated; ghost-like in the
morning’s haze, to get nearer to him.
The closer she got, the warmer
she felt. It was funny; the moon had never realised she was cold before. She
got so close she could feel him beating, not only upon her surface, but within
her. She felt almost blinded by his brightness, and had to shield her eyes. Her
body prickled in his heat. She felt she could go no closer, lest she be injured
by the astounding light. And yet she could not go away. So the moon stood at a
distance from the sun, and called across the darkness to him.
Now, the sun had been quite
content, floating amongst all the pretty stars. He was often lonely in the day
time; and lingered, long into the evenings, or rose early in the mornings, that
he might catch a glimpse of the stars, shining around his bed. He liked the
stars, but they faded too quickly, always leaving before he had chance to show
them the day.
One morning the sun rose when it
was still dark, in hope of spending longer with the stars. As he peered over
the horizon, quite by accident, the sun caught sight of the moon. He was
stilled and astonished by the way she shone. Not hot or fiery like his own
light, but cool and patient, all tenderness and blue. She lit up the darkness
like no star ever had, and all the smallest things, like the moths and the
lace-wings, and all the largest, like the oceans and the whales, all wanted to
be near her. She looked so delicate and precious…like a jewel in the early, azure
sky.
The sun was certain that he loved
the moon. He stayed late at night just to look at her. Rose even earlier just
to see her light the dark. He watched her from far away, where he was sure his
heat would not harm her.
Sometimes the sun was sure he had
heard the moon calling to him, and that the sound of her patient words, her
gentle breath, had cooled his burning for a moment. But he could not be sure.
Perhaps it was wishful thinking? He dare not call back, for fear that he had
been wrong.
“What would she, who is beloved
by mighty oceans, followed by elegant lace-wings, and surrounded with cool
serenity, want with a turbulent fire such as I?” It could not be true. The sun
was sure and certain, he was not worthy of her beauty and the desire she
commanded.
Sometimes the sun lost the moon
for days, or months. Sometimes he could not see her for all the pretty stars,
or worse still, for dark clouds in his eyes. He longed for her, but did not
search. He felt she had gone away those days, just as he deserved; away from
his tempestuous burning. But when his light softened, in the morning or the
evening, she always returned, patient and present, constant, and it cooled him
just to look at her.
Now, when she called across the
darkness, the moon was certain the sun could hear her. Sometimes, she felt he
even turned his head towards her. But he always ignored her; just as she
deserved. The sun was all passion and excitement, and all things wanted to be
with him, from the tiny flowers who tilted their petals towards him each
morning, to the children who offered up their hands and their joy to his
warmth. The flowers closed their petals when they saw the moon, and the
children slept. She could never hope to be so captivating.
Said the moon: “Why would
something so beautiful, to whom all the flowers and the children turn their
faces and smile, answer to my chilled voice that dare not go closer for fear
the heat shall harm me?”
So the moon watched the sun and
gathered her courage, creeping closer each day, where she could feel his warmth
grow raging. Sometimes, the moon lost the sun, for days, or months, behind
thick clouds or a passing pretty star, but she always looked for him, and in
the morning or the evening, she would find him again. Soon, the moon found she
did not want the moths’ wings to kiss her anymore, nor the oceans’ waves to
caress her. She recoiled from what had once been pleasure. There was no joy
lest it come from him. She needed only to feel the heat of the sun. This was
how the moon grew certain that she loved the sun.
One evening, the sun seemed restful,
and so, the moon stood trembling before him. Right before him, as close as she
could be. Suddenly, all his light was for her, and it did not burn; all his
beauty was ceremoniously unveiled. The sun hid nothing, and the moon neither –
both were naked and beautiful, and only for one another.
“I love you,” said the sun, “but
I will destroy you. There are times you cannot be so close. I am too hot, too
rough, too unpredictable. I will consume you. I love you. Don’t stay. Because I
love you…don’t stay.”
Said the moon: “I move oceans; I
am far stronger than I seem. Look carefully, you will see I too am rough and
unpredictable. See the cold and the winds that blow on my surface? They grow
quiet when I am with you. Your heat is not so blistering, it does not burn me.”
Said the sun: “It grows cooler
when I am with you.”
“I love you…” said the moon. “And
because I love you, I cannot…I will not go.”
There was no light on the Earth
that day, as the sun and the moon stood gazing, face to face. But every heart
saw, just the same, that love is strongest in the darkness, and in the ones who
stay.
