Moonlight Pages
The Strawberry Moon cast her soft pink shimmer across the Grove, not in the loud way light sometimes demands to be seen, but like a lullaby—a hush that draped over the petals and pine, a shimmer that made even silence feel sacred.
At the edge of Petal Pines, where the grass tangled into moss and the trees began to whisper of the Dark Forest beyond, a young Vireya sat with her knees tucked close. Her notebook rested in her lap, the pages curling, damp with more than dew.
She hadn’t meant to cry. She hadn’t meant to write. The moonlight had a way of loosening the knots.
"I can’t find the way out," she scribbled, the words shook. "Everything I try unravels. I feel like I break too easily. Why do the small things feel like too much?"
No one answered out loud. Something ancient was listening, quietly.
It wasn’t fear that kept her rooted here. She’d met fear before and looked it in the eye. This was something different. The weight of being misunderstood. The ache of having too much to say and no soft place for it to land. The exhaustion of simply staying.
She considered closing the book. Letting the words fade back into her. But she didn’t. She stayed.
The moon climbed higher, and the Grove seemed to shift with her breath.
A single firefly landed on her page, pulsing like a heartbeat. Then another. Then three. Their glow circled her spiral doodle and spilled into the space where words had ended.
"I don’t want to be done," she whispered this time. "I just want to feel like I matter."
The Grove responded. Not with words, but with presence.
The breeze lifted a marigold petal and placed it gently in her hand. From the earth beside her notebook, a tiny sprout appeared. Not by command or design, but simply because she had stayed still long enough to let something take root.
Sometimes, surviving is the seed.
She didn’t yet know how to explain what she was becoming. She didn’t need to.
Because staying was enough.
Because being was enough.
Somewhere between the pine shadows and the moon-soaked pages, she realized that even when your voice shakes and your hands tremble, you can still create something that glows in the dark.
The Strawberry Moon kept gentle watch above.
And when she finally looked up, the Strawberry Moon shimmered through the greenhouse dome above, not as a promise, but as a reminder:
“You stayed. You listened. Now… something new begins.”
The Vireya breathed in deeply. Not healed. Not fixed.
Ready to turn the page.
🌺 Prompts for Gentle Growth:
If the moonlight opened your journal tonight, what would it read?
What does your 14-year-old self still want you to hear?
What helps you feel safe enough to grow?
What did you carry too long that you’re finally ready to set down?
One last truth: You don’t have to bloom on command. Let the moon be your pace. Let the Grove hold you.
🌿 — Aunt C’Anna
