"Once Upon a December Moon" (Image & Text Copyright Wylddane Productions, LLC)
The full moon rose over the winter woods like a silver lantern lifted by an unseen hand. Its light shimmered across the snow-covered hills, illuminating every drifting breath of the cold night. In that quiet hour—when most of the village slept and the forest exhaled frost into the stillness—a young man named Rowan stepped outside just to admire the moon.
He had always felt something stir in him on full-moon nights, something older than memory, something that whispered of connection. His grandmother once told him that the animals spoke more clearly on such nights—not with words, but with presence. “Listen,” she said. “The world is always speaking.”
Tonight, he listened.
Far off, an owl hooted, its call deep and resonant. A fox trotted across the snowy lane, its sleek coat glowing moon-white. A pair of deer watched Rowan from the edge of the woods, their breath rising like prayer smoke into the cold night.
Rowan smiled and bowed his head slightly to them—as one might when greeting beloved neighbors.
Feeling drawn deeper, he walked into the woods. The snow, crisp and unbroken, sparkled like powdered stars. As he reached the clearing, he noticed something strange: the moonlight appeared brighter here, almost forming a pool of light upon the ground. And gathered around it—calmly, peacefully—were animals of every kind. A wolf sat beside a hare. A lynx blinked softly beside a mouse. Birds perched on the lower branches, silent as carved figurines.
Rowan froze, hardly daring to breathe.
A soft rustle behind him revealed an elder woman from the village—someone he had seen but never spoken to. Her name, he remembered, was Mara, known for her deep knowledge of herbal lore and the old stories.
“Do not fear,” she whispered. “They gather when the world is out of balance. Tonight the moon is closest to our thoughts. It listens.”
Rowan stared at the animal circle, mesmerized. “Why am I seeing this?”
“Because the forest knows you care,” Mara said. “And because the world needs witnesses—humans willing to remember that they belong to the Earth, not the other way around.”
As she spoke, the moonlight brightened until Rowan felt he was wrapped in a warm glow despite the bitter cold. Then came the twist he never expected: the circle of animals slowly turned toward him. Not threateningly, but with unmistakable intention.
They bowed.
Every one of them.
Rowan felt tears sting his eyes. “But... I’ve done nothing.”
“You see them,” Mara said. “Most walk through the world blind.”
The light faded gently, the animals dispersed into the darkness, and Mara vanished as quietly as if she were part of the moon’s dream. Rowan was left standing in the clearing, heart pounding, understanding something profound:
Interconnection is not a philosophy.
It is a truth we recognize only when we make ourselves quiet enough to feel it.
And as the moon rose higher, Rowan whispered into the cold, crystalline air:
“I will remember.”
* * * * * * * * * *
Dawn is arriving now.
The sky, before the sun rises, wears a soft peach blush—the quiet promise of a new day. The cold is bitter, sharp enough to etch itself along the windows, yet inside the wee cottage all is warm and welcoming.
My coffee sits beside me, fragrant and steady, a small companion offering both comfort and courage. Mozart’s Divertimento in D drifts through the room, each note clear as morning ice, bright as the moonlit snow from my dreamlike story.
I gaze out at the world—snow white and luminous—and Rowan’s December encounter stays with me. The animals bowing. The moon listening. The truth of Anima Mundi: that everything is woven together by an unseen thread of spirit and reciprocity.
And I carry this with me now:
That the world is not a commodity.
That the Earth is not a resource.
That every being—feathered, furred, rooted, or human—is a gift in motion.
When we choose to see the world as alive, we ourselves become more alive.
So on this crystal-clear morning, with the peach glow rising slowly to greet the day, I step gently into this moment. I breathe gratitude. I remember my place in the great weaving. And I know, deeply, that I am one with this magical universe.
And so I begin this new day… heart open, spirit listening.
* * * * * * * * * *
“On nights when the full moon breathes silver upon the snow, the world remembers that we are all one heartbeat.” ~Anon
~Wylddane
He had always felt something stir in him on full-moon nights, something older than memory, something that whispered of connection. His grandmother once told him that the animals spoke more clearly on such nights—not with words, but with presence. “Listen,” she said. “The world is always speaking.”
Tonight, he listened.
Far off, an owl hooted, its call deep and resonant. A fox trotted across the snowy lane, its sleek coat glowing moon-white. A pair of deer watched Rowan from the edge of the woods, their breath rising like prayer smoke into the cold night.
Rowan smiled and bowed his head slightly to them—as one might when greeting beloved neighbors.
Feeling drawn deeper, he walked into the woods. The snow, crisp and unbroken, sparkled like powdered stars. As he reached the clearing, he noticed something strange: the moonlight appeared brighter here, almost forming a pool of light upon the ground. And gathered around it—calmly, peacefully—were animals of every kind. A wolf sat beside a hare. A lynx blinked softly beside a mouse. Birds perched on the lower branches, silent as carved figurines.
Rowan froze, hardly daring to breathe.
A soft rustle behind him revealed an elder woman from the village—someone he had seen but never spoken to. Her name, he remembered, was Mara, known for her deep knowledge of herbal lore and the old stories.
“Do not fear,” she whispered. “They gather when the world is out of balance. Tonight the moon is closest to our thoughts. It listens.”
Rowan stared at the animal circle, mesmerized. “Why am I seeing this?”
“Because the forest knows you care,” Mara said. “And because the world needs witnesses—humans willing to remember that they belong to the Earth, not the other way around.”
As she spoke, the moonlight brightened until Rowan felt he was wrapped in a warm glow despite the bitter cold. Then came the twist he never expected: the circle of animals slowly turned toward him. Not threateningly, but with unmistakable intention.
They bowed.
Every one of them.
Rowan felt tears sting his eyes. “But... I’ve done nothing.”
“You see them,” Mara said. “Most walk through the world blind.”
The light faded gently, the animals dispersed into the darkness, and Mara vanished as quietly as if she were part of the moon’s dream. Rowan was left standing in the clearing, heart pounding, understanding something profound:
Interconnection is not a philosophy.
It is a truth we recognize only when we make ourselves quiet enough to feel it.
And as the moon rose higher, Rowan whispered into the cold, crystalline air:
“I will remember.”
* * * * * * * * * *
Dawn is arriving now.
The sky, before the sun rises, wears a soft peach blush—the quiet promise of a new day. The cold is bitter, sharp enough to etch itself along the windows, yet inside the wee cottage all is warm and welcoming.
My coffee sits beside me, fragrant and steady, a small companion offering both comfort and courage. Mozart’s Divertimento in D drifts through the room, each note clear as morning ice, bright as the moonlit snow from my dreamlike story.
I gaze out at the world—snow white and luminous—and Rowan’s December encounter stays with me. The animals bowing. The moon listening. The truth of Anima Mundi: that everything is woven together by an unseen thread of spirit and reciprocity.
And I carry this with me now:
That the world is not a commodity.
That the Earth is not a resource.
That every being—feathered, furred, rooted, or human—is a gift in motion.
When we choose to see the world as alive, we ourselves become more alive.
So on this crystal-clear morning, with the peach glow rising slowly to greet the day, I step gently into this moment. I breathe gratitude. I remember my place in the great weaving. And I know, deeply, that I am one with this magical universe.
And so I begin this new day… heart open, spirit listening.
* * * * * * * * * *
“On nights when the full moon breathes silver upon the snow, the world remembers that we are all one heartbeat.” ~Anon
~Wylddane
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