Nerra Finds the Moon Gate — Every night, Nerra brushed moon-silver pollen from the trumpet blooms and carried it over the sleeping leaves. Read the full story →
Every night, Nerra brushed moon-silver pollen from the trumpet blooms and carried it over the sleeping leaves. She liked the hush: the papery rub of her wings, the peppery smell of vines, the crescent moon hanging like a cup above the garden. She always finished before the last star blinked pale.
Until one night, a tiny beetle with a lantern belly rose from a curled leaf and said, “You’re late for the gate.” Because of that, Nerra followed him past flowers she had never touched, where roots glowed blue under the soil. Because of that, the vines uncurled into an arch, and every blossom turned its face toward her as if they had been waiting.
At the center, Nerra shook loose her pollen, and the garden answered with a soft green light that warmed her legs and wings. She had not missed her route; her route had been leading here all along. Next time you see the crescent above the flowers, can you find the quiet place where Nerra’s moon-silver pollen still shines?
