Listen to this on the Wild Creation Stories Podcast here:
Henry & the Moon
Henry is a little boy who loves the sky, especially at night when he visits his friend, the moon.
“Sky!” He points out the window to show his mother.
“Yes,” she says. “That is the sky.”
“Sky!” He points to the picture of blue skies over a pasture in his book.
“Yes, dear.”
“Moon!”
Henry points to the glowing orb in the sky.
“Yes, that is the moon,” his mother says. “And every day she changes, just like you. Some days she is big, some days she is small.”
“Moon!” Henry says.
One day, Henry takes his mother’s finger and guides her to the door to go outside and see the moon.
But she is not there.
“Moon?” Henry asks.
“She’s not in the sky tonight,” his mother says. “She will be back soon. Maybe tomorrow.”
“Moon!” Henry begins to cry. “Moon!”
He looks under the couch and under his bed. He looks in the cabinets. He even looks in the garbage can.
“Moon?”
Henry cries until his mother comes to comfort him. “We will look again tomorrow.”
But Henry cannot stop looking.
He looks under the doormat. He looks inside his books. He looks inside his father’s boots.
“Moon?”
When Henry’s mother is not looking, he sneaks outside and stares up into the sky.
“Moon!”
The sky is full of stars, but the moon is nowhere in sight.
Henry hears a sound coming from beneath the car.
“Moon?” he says, getting closer.
The small cry grows louder.
“Moon?”
A kitten meows and rubs against Henry’s legs. He picks it up and it purrs against his chest.
“Henry! There you are.” His mother rushes breathless to the curb. “Come back inside.”
“Moon,” Henry says, holding the kitten in his arms. “Moon!”
His mother picks up both boy and kitten.
“Yes,” she laughs. “You found the moon. And now she will always be with you.”
Henry goes inside and sleeps with Moon curled up beside him.
Blueberry Heaven
When I was a very little girl, there was a blueberry grove behind my house filled with so many bushes that we called it Blueberry Heaven.
It was summer, and every day I went outside to visit my blueberries.
I watched them grow from blossoms to tiny berries that grew ripe and sweet, ready to be plucked. And pluck them, I did!
I picked and ate berries until my fingers and mouth were stained with their juices. I filled buckets and brought them home to my mother, and ate as many as I picked. The supply was endless.
Until one day when the chill of fall was in the air, the blueberry bush was empty of all but a few shriveled berries.
I’d done something wrong. I’d eaten too many. There were none left.
I missed them and wept.
“Mama,” I cried, “where have the blueberries gone?”
“They are inside of you, small one,” my mother said, placing her hand on my heart. “It is the way of all things to be here for a time and then to pass away. The blueberries will be back again next summer.”
I thought my mother did not understand, so I took her by the hand to show her that the blueberries were ALL GONE.
“Dear heart,” she said. “Though the bush is empty, it will be filled again. Patience. It takes time, action, or both, to have blueberries. The sun will rise and set many times, the seasons will pass, and when it is summer again, the blueberries will return.”
I wiped my eyes on my mother’s pants and looked away from the empty bush.
“But if there was another way to have blueberries,” my mother said, “what would that be?”
I thought and thought and thought.
“I could go to the Blueberry Store and buy them?”
“Yes.” She smiled. “You can always create more of what you desire through your own actions over time.”
So we drove to the grocery store to buy blueberries, and whenever I feel that there is scarcity in this world, I remember the blueberries. There is always something I can do to find the more that always exists.
