Oona Shares the Moon Giggle — Oona had polished her favorite branch with one careful claw and settled in to enjoy a joke the crescent moon had whispered through the birches. It was not a loud joke. Read the full story →
Oona had polished her favorite branch with one careful claw and settled in to enjoy a joke the crescent moon had whispered through the birches. It was not a loud joke. It sounded like silver paper being folded very slowly, and it made her round eyes shine while the leaves clicked and tapped in the cool night air.
A speckled moth landed on her beak. Then another landed on her ear tuft. Then twelve more fluttered up from the ferns, each carrying a crumb of moonlight on its wings and humming the exact punch line backward. Oona blinked. The joke had not been meant for her at all; the moon had been rehearsing with a tiny comedy troupe, and she had been sitting in the front row.
So Oona gave the laugh back properly. She hooted once, low and grand, and every leaf vein, bark stripe, berry stem, and sleepy star seemed to jiggle along. By dawn, the grove still smelled of sap and moon-cold air, and Oona’s polished branch held a joy too big to keep, like silver paper being folded very slowly.
