Story-telling – Mother Wintermoon

The Truth and the Lie cross paths one day. The Lie says to the Truth: “It’s a lovely day today!” The Truth looks around at all of nature rejoicing in the beautiful weather and sees that it is a truly lovely day. The Lie invites the Truth to spend the day together. The Truth is tentative at first, but accepts after witnessing the Lie express such joy and genuineness in the glory of the day. They spend hours together laughing, talking and exploring until they reach the shores of a placid lake. The Lie exclaims: “The water in the lake is delightful, let’s jump into it together!”

The Truth tests the water and discovers that it is indeed delightful. After a full and active day together in the sun, the Truth and the Lie both undress and jump in to enjoy the refreshing water of the lake. The Truth floats in the lake with her eyes closed, lulled into happiness by the unexpected pleasantness of the day.

Suddenly, the Lie jumps out of the water, dresses in the Truth’s clothing, grabs his own, and runs away. In shock and dismay, the Truth swims to the shore as fast as she can and runs after the Lie. Everywhere the Truth runs in pursuit of the Lie, the World turns its gaze away and shuns her, filled with contempt and rage.

The poor Truth returns to the lake and disappears, hiding in the deep water where she fears she will spend all the rest of her days. Meanwhile, the Lie, clothed as the Truth, lives a smug and satisfied life embraced by a society that has no wish at all to meet the naked Truth or give the naked Truth a chance to live without shame.

Adaptation of a 19th century legend (original author unknown). The genders are a literally device that can be reversed by anyone reading the story.

Little Wintermoon

Although she was only eight winters old, she already understood the importance of the Winter Moon and felt drawn to the chilled air of Winter. It was a hushed time of healing and rebirth. With it came the promise of a new beginning.

She was so enthralled by the Winter Moon shining through the window panes, that she failed to notice her family had gathered around the fireplace, whispering secrets in an ancient tongue and debating the messages within “the riddles.” She had always wanted to join in, but her father had explained that she wasn’t yet old enough to receive the knowledge or attempt discernment of “the riddles.”

Feeling left out, she begged him to take her outdoors to see the Winter Moon. Surprisingly, her father agreed despite the late hour, but only if she promised to hold onto his hand and stay close. She eagerly agreed and grabbed her knitted scarf and hooded woolen cloak with the fuzzy wool-lined pockets off the carved wooden hooks by the doorway. Her mother called the color of her cloak, “blueberry,” and it was her favorite item of clothing. They didn’t have much, but what they had was cherished.

As soon as she stepped out into the winter night wearing the tall winter boots and hand-knitted gloves that were gifts from her grandmother, she felt the magic. She didn’t know what she had been expecting, but she wasn’t disappointed. The sky was alive with stars, the air was laced with crystalline frost and the cold was so intense she could feel it in her very bones.

But the most amazing thing was the Winter Moon, shining with a ghostly light and glimmering like an ice crystal, both beautiful and powerful in equal measure. She wanted to stay outdoors just to keep its light upon her face, but her father insisted upon going inside after only a few minutes.

The entire evening she felt she was wearing a cloak of peace and tranquility. Intuitively she knew that despite any difficulties, the Winter Moon would bring her comfort and healing.

Maiden Wintermoon

When the girl grew to be a maiden, she was memorized by the Winter Moon illuminating the night sky with its pale light, casting its long shadows over the quiet town as it slept.

She had always loved the winter for its quiet beauty, as if the entire world was submerged in a silent and mysterious dream.

She wanted to go out into the shadowy cover of night, to feel the light of the Winter Moon on her skin. She threw on her heavy slate gray cloak, the color of storm clouds, and stepped into the frosty gloam. For as far as she could see, the snow silently carpeted the earth in a stillness she could read with all of her senses. In the chatty hush, she heard stories woven and told over centuries.

She looked up to the sky, her breath forming a white cloud in the cold air. She felt as if she could touch the Winter Moon, as if its light was wrapping her in a safe embrace.

She was pulled to the silvery circle, feeling that same magical pull that guided her ancient ancestors.

She stayed outside until the chill of the night told her she must return home. The snow crunched under her boots as the Winter Moon illuminated her steps homeward. Even indoors by the wood burning stove, a piece of the Winter Moon resided with her in her heart.