Writing Prompt 47: Moon
Closer Than You Think
Every evening, before I go to bed, I take the dog out to do her last pee of the day.
As I stand there in the quiet and the dark, I look for the moon.
Some nights, when I find it, it's sitting low in the sky, grazing the treetops as it rises slowly, its crescent shape as thin as a fingernail. Other nights it looks as if someone has come along and cut it right in half like a round of cheese. Then there's the one night in the month where it's big and bright and full, lighting up everything around me. We all know this, the phases of the moon, the waxing and waning gibbous, pulling the seas of the world with its gravitational force.
For this week, write your own myth around what the moon means for you.
Is there a spiritual, physical or emotional meaning there?
Do you see a human face in the shapes and shadows of the surface, or an animal or a bird or a fish?
Does each phase of the moon represent different emotions for you?
Is there a ritual you perform when the full moon rises?
Are you superstitious or religious?
Does the moon symbolise something for you?
Do you feel a connection with the physical body of the world itself?
You could write a story for children or adults. A story that is formed from your cultural upbringing and understanding. A story that can be shared amongst those you know and those you don't. A shared story everyone can learn from.
This will take some time and thought. Have a read of the post on mind map techniques.
Let's see where this takes you. Have fun!
The Old Woman's hand snapped shut over the small moth.
“I have it,” she said, her cold, wrinkled, arthritic fingers scaring the life out of the girl standing right beside her. The girl almost dropped the lantern she carried over the fingers of her left hand.
The Old Woman took the lantern, opened its door and popped the moth inside. The insect glowed eerily in the dim light. The girl edged closer, peering at it through the glass. The moth fluttered, its wings buzzing with fury. The girl reached out a finger to open the door and free the insect into the wind but the Old Woman grasped her hand quickly, holding it tight.
“It stays in there,” she said in a whisper so quiet the girl could barely hear her.
In the silence, only the sound of the girl's heart hammering hard in her chest and the moth’s wings buzzing against the glass vibrated in the night.
The Old Woman turned away, her eyes closed and her face lifted to the full moon.
Out of sight of the Old Woman, the girl flicked the latch open of the lantern door with her fingernail. The moth reached out its antennae into the cool night air. In seconds it had gone.
The Old Woman opened her eyes with a start and shook her head.
“You will never know what you've done," she said.
“It’s just a moth,” said the girl running away.
Three weeks later, a colossal storm formed in the east, way out in the middle of the ocean, hundreds of miles from land. It gathered pace and shape over several days until, one night, it slammed against the shore.
The damage it caused was more than anyone had expected, yet few lives were lost. Only an old woman and a young girl last seen staring up at the sky before the howling gale lifted them up and flung them out to sea.
Story first posted March 2019 // Photo: Jim Chaytor 2014
