Tiny woke up in a cold sweat, it was the third time this week. Tears escaped from her eyes, and she sat up in the silence of the witching hour. The room was in darkness, save for the shafts of hazy moonlight that streamed down from Mother-the-Moon’s watchful gaze.
“What is the matter Tiny, why do you cry?” asked Mother-the-Moon from the coal-black sky.

Tiny didn’t answer—she didn’t need to.  Mother-the-Moon could feel her worries. She could understand her fears, and her pain.
“Just close your eyes, and relax,” urged Mother-the-Moon, as she guided her moonbeams towards the girl. Tiny did as she was told, feeling the soft, silvery tendrils spin around her small frame, cradling her in a cocoon of light.

Tiny dreamt she was in a faraway land. It was a familiar place where a memory had once been born. She was lying in her Mama’s arms, nuzzling her face into a soft, warm neck. She could smell cooking, and cologne, and a feeling without words, but tasted like the sun. She felt a tender kiss on her forehead, as soft as a butterfly’s touch.  And she heard the muffled hum of a well-loved song vibrating against her ear. There she slept, safe and happy, and wrapped in a blanket of stars. 

Tiny opened her eyes to see Mother-the-Moon waving goodbye, and fading into the clear morning sky. The once-dark room now felt the warmth of the approaching sun.  She stood by herself at the open window, but she no longer felt alone.

For Sunanda and Judy xx

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