Day 3 of 360 Days of Symbols. Today’s symbol? The moon.
The moon was her lamp, hung down in root cage from her hand, lighting through the underearth, the cavelands, those haunted cavern places. She was a star once, long ago. But the light inside was stolen, taken far below. They replaced her heartlight with a wasp’s nest, and she still heard them buzz with each inhale, exhale. This noise made time go slow. Creep by and slink by, and devour the night around her.
Stalagmites sparkle with her descent. The caverns twist into nebulashape, circle spiral going inward and downward. Creek sounds can be heard far below, and maybe the echo of a rush of riverwater. She places a hand on the wall, feels it moving against her skin, and thinks these walls are alive. This cavern is alive.
She raises the moon, let the light shout out the shadows, watched them runaway. She heard whispers of an underground forest, and maybe in the center of that was an underground lake. And in that lake was an island, and in that island was a castle. And in that castle was a king who had her heart light.
She moved the moon back and forth, sweeping light across this night world beneath the crust. It flickered and then changed shape, waxing and waning in the root cage she used to catch it. No, no, don’t go out yet, she hadn’t found it yet. And what was a star without sparkle, without shine? Just a black hole, sucking up worlds, leaving gravity in its wake.