Moon
That night in the breezeless willow grove, the fox fell in love, as moonbeams played across the ground. Fox did not usually come here, so close to the village edge. But tonight the moon was beautiful, and she had taken a mind to see it from the hillside on which the willows grew. She padded her way through the grass until she reached the edge of the drooping branches; inside the embrace of the tree the light shone through in irregular and ever-changing shapes, dancing across the ground like infant stars. She stood there for a moment, enjoying, then her ears pricked up: the fox was not alone.
In the center of the grove sat a young man, next to him lay a copper pitcher of wine, in his hand was a wine cup. He raised the cup, saluted the moon and drank deeply; reflected moonlight fell down his cheeks, and he began to weep bitterly. He was a handsome man with delicate features, and a pronounced nose that gave him an air of hauteur, and his eyes, obscured though they were with grief, shone with a stubborn spirit.
Something stirred in the fox’s heart, the trees grew taller, the moon shone brighter, and the night went pitch. A feeling of anticipation grew and grew, and then a tremor of anxiety shook it, as though all the potential happiness and sorrow in her life were joined in this moment and finally burst from her in a voice like autumn leaves falling to the ground:
“Why, sir, do you weep?”
The man looked up, too involved in his own misery to be surprised by mysterious voices from the edge of night. Without looking right or left, staring straight ahead listlessly, he told the reason for his sorrow:
“I am a poor scholar, I have studied my entire life, yet I cannot pass the examination which will allow me to serve in the Emperor’s Court. I have thought and thought about the question, and it seems the only path left to me is to write a poem which will cause the Emperor to notice me. But my verse is like a dead lifeless thing! I am alone, I live without hope of success, and I very much wish to die.”
The Fox, already inexplicably attracted to the young man, found this situation quite terrible indeed, and so pitied him, and through her pity, she discovered she loved him. She stood for a moment, silent, and then spoke:
“Do you not see the moon above you? And the shadow behind you? As you drink and dance do they not dance with you? You are not alone; tonight at least, you have two friends with you.”
“A poetic sentiment, indeed.”
“Yes, for I am a poet, and I would like to give you a gift.”
“Stranger, what is it?”
“Close your eyes, and do not open them until I say to do so.”
The young man somewhat reluctantly closed his eyes and waited. The fox slowly crept from the cover of the tree, into the center of the grove, right before the man. She carefully dipped her paw into the copper pitcher, and then began staining words upon the front of the young man’s robe. He stiffened, but the fox once again admonished him to stillness, and he remained obediently blind. Tens of minutes passed, and finally, the fox had finished her composition. She returned to dark shadow of the trees, and told the young man to open his eyes and examine his robe. The young man was astonished by what the moonlight revealed:
“This is a poem of best quality, the words flow like limpid waves, the verses couple like earth and sky, I have never seen anything like it.”
“This is my gift to you, good sir, and you may put your name to it as you please. Into it,” she purred humbly, “I have placed a small portion of my soul.”
“What can I do to thank you? What is your name?”
“What you can do for me,” she said, “is very simple, allow me to return home with you and to serve as your muse.” As the fox said this, she drew herself up on her hind legs, and walked into the silver light of the grove’s center. Yet as she did so, something curious happened; her fur grew pale and receded, until it was as human skin, with each step she grew taller, and her eyes assumed a human quality. When she stood fully in front of the man, she was not a fox, but a slight woman with a vulpine face, clothed in a gown spun of moonlight.
Needless to say, the fox went home with the poor scholar that night, and her love was soon returned in kind. Due to her spectacular poetic talents, the young man was soon able to use her verse to attract the attention of many officials and high places, and before many months had passed, the Emperor himself had seen them, was likewise amazed, and appointed the author to a position of reasonable standing within the court.
Years passed, and the young man matured, and as his age advanced, so did his position. This, of course, was not based on any particular merit regarding matters of administration, but rather on the magnificent poems the loving fox placed in his hands. But with power comes enemies, and sometimes even those enemies who are both extremely hateful and extremely clever. The man had acquired just this kind of enemy in the person of the prime minister’s son due to certain obscure questions of court etiquette. The feud between them raged long and hard, and many years passed in bitter contestation.
One day, the fox was curled on the roof of their modest villa, when she saw the servants admitting none other than her husband’s enemy, the prime minister’s son. This appearance was greeted with great surprise by all in the household, but the man quickly recovered his wits and led the prime minister’s son into his study, and there they conversed for many hours. The content of their conversation was this: the prime minister had tired of the prolonged feud, and desired to make peace between the two houses, in order to affect this, he proposed a marriage between the man and the prime minister’s daughter, in this way the two houses would be joined, and the laws of blood would forbid further conflict. The man, in the eyes of the entire capital society already too long a bachelor, could but agree.
The fox felt both betrayed and apprehensive; she felt a tingle in her spine that seemed to say, soon all of this would be over as if a dream. In bed that night, she raised her worries, but was rebuked. After all, whatever she would say would simply be jealousy, and the man had already grown to accustomed to her loving attentions; he thought she would not leave no matter what happened, and the fox knew he was right.
The marriage took place; the fox was displaced from her master’s life by a beautiful, swanlike girl who glided from room to room as if on water. The fox more and more kept to her original, vulpine form and spoke little with the man. She stayed mostly on the roof, and spent the night looking at the moon and stars. The moon she saw seemed so like the one she saw in the willow grove, so very long ago, yet it was a different moon that now shone down on her. The warmth and beauty of old were gone, and now all that remained was a stinging whiteness.
One day from the rooftop, she spied a column of soldiers marching toward the house, finally stopping in front of the main door and ramming their way inside. And of course, the soldiers soon discovered, as had been arranged, a poem with decidedly seditious content placed in the man’s study by his new wife- the prime minister’s daughter. That very noon, the entire household was taken to the market place, beheaded, and then stuck on pikes on top of the market gate to serve as warning for all citizens of the Empire.
That night, the fox thought through the events of her life, bathing her heart in the acid of injustice acknowledged, and the burning sorrow of aloneness. She felt trapped by her own decisions and her own inability to leave the one who had betrayed her. Tears streamed from her eyes, and she began to sing a lament in a tongue unknown to any man.
-- "Moon" John Barthelette
In the center of the grove sat a young man, next to him lay a copper pitcher of wine, in his hand was a wine cup. He raised the cup, saluted the moon and drank deeply; reflected moonlight fell down his cheeks, and he began to weep bitterly. He was a handsome man with delicate features, and a pronounced nose that gave him an air of hauteur, and his eyes, obscured though they were with grief, shone with a stubborn spirit.
Something stirred in the fox’s heart, the trees grew taller, the moon shone brighter, and the night went pitch. A feeling of anticipation grew and grew, and then a tremor of anxiety shook it, as though all the potential happiness and sorrow in her life were joined in this moment and finally burst from her in a voice like autumn leaves falling to the ground:
“Why, sir, do you weep?”
The man looked up, too involved in his own misery to be surprised by mysterious voices from the edge of night. Without looking right or left, staring straight ahead listlessly, he told the reason for his sorrow:
“I am a poor scholar, I have studied my entire life, yet I cannot pass the examination which will allow me to serve in the Emperor’s Court. I have thought and thought about the question, and it seems the only path left to me is to write a poem which will cause the Emperor to notice me. But my verse is like a dead lifeless thing! I am alone, I live without hope of success, and I very much wish to die.”
The Fox, already inexplicably attracted to the young man, found this situation quite terrible indeed, and so pitied him, and through her pity, she discovered she loved him. She stood for a moment, silent, and then spoke:
“Do you not see the moon above you? And the shadow behind you? As you drink and dance do they not dance with you? You are not alone; tonight at least, you have two friends with you.”
“A poetic sentiment, indeed.”
“Yes, for I am a poet, and I would like to give you a gift.”
“Stranger, what is it?”
“Close your eyes, and do not open them until I say to do so.”
The young man somewhat reluctantly closed his eyes and waited. The fox slowly crept from the cover of the tree, into the center of the grove, right before the man. She carefully dipped her paw into the copper pitcher, and then began staining words upon the front of the young man’s robe. He stiffened, but the fox once again admonished him to stillness, and he remained obediently blind. Tens of minutes passed, and finally, the fox had finished her composition. She returned to dark shadow of the trees, and told the young man to open his eyes and examine his robe. The young man was astonished by what the moonlight revealed:
“This is a poem of best quality, the words flow like limpid waves, the verses couple like earth and sky, I have never seen anything like it.”
“This is my gift to you, good sir, and you may put your name to it as you please. Into it,” she purred humbly, “I have placed a small portion of my soul.”
“What can I do to thank you? What is your name?”
“What you can do for me,” she said, “is very simple, allow me to return home with you and to serve as your muse.” As the fox said this, she drew herself up on her hind legs, and walked into the silver light of the grove’s center. Yet as she did so, something curious happened; her fur grew pale and receded, until it was as human skin, with each step she grew taller, and her eyes assumed a human quality. When she stood fully in front of the man, she was not a fox, but a slight woman with a vulpine face, clothed in a gown spun of moonlight.
Needless to say, the fox went home with the poor scholar that night, and her love was soon returned in kind. Due to her spectacular poetic talents, the young man was soon able to use her verse to attract the attention of many officials and high places, and before many months had passed, the Emperor himself had seen them, was likewise amazed, and appointed the author to a position of reasonable standing within the court.
Years passed, and the young man matured, and as his age advanced, so did his position. This, of course, was not based on any particular merit regarding matters of administration, but rather on the magnificent poems the loving fox placed in his hands. But with power comes enemies, and sometimes even those enemies who are both extremely hateful and extremely clever. The man had acquired just this kind of enemy in the person of the prime minister’s son due to certain obscure questions of court etiquette. The feud between them raged long and hard, and many years passed in bitter contestation.
One day, the fox was curled on the roof of their modest villa, when she saw the servants admitting none other than her husband’s enemy, the prime minister’s son. This appearance was greeted with great surprise by all in the household, but the man quickly recovered his wits and led the prime minister’s son into his study, and there they conversed for many hours. The content of their conversation was this: the prime minister had tired of the prolonged feud, and desired to make peace between the two houses, in order to affect this, he proposed a marriage between the man and the prime minister’s daughter, in this way the two houses would be joined, and the laws of blood would forbid further conflict. The man, in the eyes of the entire capital society already too long a bachelor, could but agree.
The fox felt both betrayed and apprehensive; she felt a tingle in her spine that seemed to say, soon all of this would be over as if a dream. In bed that night, she raised her worries, but was rebuked. After all, whatever she would say would simply be jealousy, and the man had already grown to accustomed to her loving attentions; he thought she would not leave no matter what happened, and the fox knew he was right.
The marriage took place; the fox was displaced from her master’s life by a beautiful, swanlike girl who glided from room to room as if on water. The fox more and more kept to her original, vulpine form and spoke little with the man. She stayed mostly on the roof, and spent the night looking at the moon and stars. The moon she saw seemed so like the one she saw in the willow grove, so very long ago, yet it was a different moon that now shone down on her. The warmth and beauty of old were gone, and now all that remained was a stinging whiteness.
One day from the rooftop, she spied a column of soldiers marching toward the house, finally stopping in front of the main door and ramming their way inside. And of course, the soldiers soon discovered, as had been arranged, a poem with decidedly seditious content placed in the man’s study by his new wife- the prime minister’s daughter. That very noon, the entire household was taken to the market place, beheaded, and then stuck on pikes on top of the market gate to serve as warning for all citizens of the Empire.
That night, the fox thought through the events of her life, bathing her heart in the acid of injustice acknowledged, and the burning sorrow of aloneness. She felt trapped by her own decisions and her own inability to leave the one who had betrayed her. Tears streamed from her eyes, and she began to sing a lament in a tongue unknown to any man.
-- "Moon" John Barthelette