I am exhausted, my bones are exhausted, my flesh is exhausted, my heart is exhausted, my soul is exhausted. It’s been a long day in the fields, and I am worn from all the work. My baby sleeps in her lisan, wrapped in warm furs, next to my breast. Thank the gods that she is sleeping now, for it is a lot of trouble working in the fields with a fitful, wakeful baby.

The sun is setting over the horizon as I reach my hut. My two children rush out the door in order to greet me. Kalil, who is six summers old, and Malika, who is three summers old.

“Mommy! Mommy! I waited so long for you to come!” Malika exclaims.

“I’ve waited a long time to come as well,” I tell them, the sky a burning shade of orange.

“Why did you take so long?” Kalil asks me.

“There were so many weeds, young ones. They were just growing everywhere.”

“Did you get all of them?” Malika asks.

“No, not even close, but I did what I could.”

“Yeah,” Kalil echoes, “you did what you could.”

“Is daddy back yet?” I query the children.

“No,” they both reply sadly.

“Were you guys with Mama?” I ask.

“We were!” Kalil announces.

“She came home before the sun was all orange,” Malika explains.

“Oh good.”

I go into my hut and set my baby down, and I give my wife, Amali, a kiss on the lips as I meet her.

“Long day?” she questions.

“Yeah.”

“Me too.”

“I figured.”

“The kids want to go to the village circle.”

“That sounds lovely. We should wait for Kailon to come back though.”

“We should.”

“Let’s go watch the sunset,” Malika suggests.

“Sounds wonderful!”

We go outside and gaze up at the sky. It’s magnificent, the bright fire that turns everything into brilliant raging. There is something liminal about the sunset. Something subversive. It brings in a new time, a time when everything can be questioned and nothing is for certain. A time of secrecy, mystery, and protection.

And the moon, lighting the nighttime sky with her soft glow, that moon is the steward of the night time, the time when we can be at rest, the time when we can be together, the time when we can share and keep each other’s secrets.

Our husband, Kailon, comes just as the sun slips past the horizon, and he hugs the kids and ruffles their hair, and I embrace him in the twilight.

“Sorry for being so late, Jailen fell off a tree and broke his arm.”

“Oh no. How?” Amali’s eyes are wide with worry.

“He was all the way out in the thin branches, trying to get fruit. We told him he shouldn’t go out so far, but he didn’t listen. The branch fell with him on it.”

“That’s horrible,” I reply, “will he be alright?”

“I think so, we got him to the healer as fast as we could.”

“Good for you guys,” Amali comments. “Anyways, the kids want to go to the village circle.”

“Let’s go then, we’re all together.”

In the village circle, there are lots of other families. The kids go running to the other children and I follow after them, since Kailon has the baby.

“Hi, Aunt Macia, how are you?” Maki asks me.

“Better now that I see you. How are you doing?”

“I’m alright.”

“Were you in the fields today?”

“I was. Not fun.”

“I’m sorry. Well at least you get to play now.”

“Aunt Macia, run!” Akala calls to me, “the monster’s coming to get us!”

“Oh no! I’ll hide myself with leaves.” I make a show of putting leaves on myself.

The moon is high in the sky, watching over all of us, coating all of us in its soft silvery glow.

“We should have a sing-along!” A young voice suggests. There is agreement all around and I find myself voting for what song to sing.

“We should sing about the Moon Maiden,” a child suggests.

This eventually gets the most vote, though I don’t vote for it, but it’s a lovely song anyways.

“Forever watches over all the lands with secret eyes.

Forever turning lies to truth and turning truth to lies.

Forever hiding all the whispers that we whisper whisper to her.

Forever turning lies to truth and turning truth to lies.”

There is something deeply melancholy about the song, but something deeply strengthening as well.