Junie Shares the Moonpath — Under a crescent moon that smelled of cold leaves and pumpkin stems, Junie carried one silver spark on the tip of her claw. Read the full story →
Under a crescent moon that smelled of cold leaves and pumpkin stems, Junie carried one silver spark on the tip of her claw. She had made herself a tiny challenge: light every pumpkin grin before the bats finished three loops over the bare trees, and do it without one thundery roar. The path should have been straight, but vines curled around her toes, soft as sleepy snakes, and each jack-o-lantern giggled only when she stepped close.
At the last dark pumpkin, Junie’s spark grew too bright to keep. Joy fizzed in her chest, bigger than her hat, bigger than the moon. “Everyone gets some,” she whispered, touching the ground instead of the pumpkin. Silver light ran through the mud in a gentle wiggle, from grin to grin, until the whole patch shone together.
Ever since then, moonpaths through pumpkin patches do not go straight. They bend toward every waiting smile, sharing the light Junie could not hold, and next time you see that winding path, you’ll know which claw started it under a crescent moon.
