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The Buried Moon
Week 2
And as she [the moon] stilled herself for a moment, wondering what she might do now, she heard a voice in the distance, calling out in a crusty old voice; and then she heard steps floundering along, squishing in the mud and slipping on the tufts; and finally through the darkness she made out a big white face with bright, frightened eyes. It was a man, and he had strayed off the path and become lost. Spotting the light that flickered out from her cloak as the Moon tried to free herself, he struggled on towards the pool, thinking that the light might mean help and safety.
And when the Moon saw that he was coming closer and closer to the deep hole, she fought and fought to free herself, fearing that he too would fall and become trapped in the pool, and maybe even drown. So hard she fought that the black hood fell off her shining white hair, and the beautiful light that spilled out drove away the darkness and the terrors of the night. Oh, the man cried with joy to see the light again, and to see the dark, shadowy Things fleeing back into the dark crevices of the bog, for they couldn’t abide the light. And now finally he could see where he was, and where he needed to be, and so off he ran, back across to the boreen again, finding his way home. He was in such a hurry to get away that he hardly thought to wonder at the source of the light, or to look down at the brave mother Moon, who was so glad to see him safely back on his path that she forgot to call out to him for help.
And so again she struggled, thinking how fine it would be to be out of the bog again, pulling and fighting as if she were mad – but still the bramble held tight, and all that she succeeded in doing was spilling the black hood over her face again, so that the light went out and the darkness came back to the bog, and out again crawled the dark Things. With screeches and howls they crowded around the pool, mocking the Moon and snatching and beating at her, shrieking with rage and spite, swearing and snarling.
They knew her for their old enemy: the one who drove them away into the dark corners, and kept them from working their wills. And so miserable was the Moon that she crouched down further into the dark pool, cold and shivering and lost. The dark Things fought and squabbled about what they should do with her, till a pale light began to rise in the east, and dawn began to think about breaking. The dark Things saw that they were running out of time, and so all at once they caught hold of the Moon and shoved her even deeper into the pool, and two giant bogles went and found a huge heavy rock and rolled it on top of the pool, to keep her from rising again. And there lay the Moon, buried in the bog, with no hope of help.
(By Sharon Blackie from If Women Rose Rooted)
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