The Twelve Moons

You sing to kids a lot of lullabies about twelve moons (and seven market days, as well...).

As a basic lullaby, I chose Branduardi's one.
The lullaby says:
La luna del ghiaccio
la luna dei fantasmi
la luna calda del sole che ritorna
la luna dei fiori
la luna dei germogli
la luna gialla del grano che matura
la luna del riso
la luna del raccolto
la luna bianca del volo degli uccelli
la luna grande
la luna delle foglie
la piccola luna del sole che muore.
E la pioggia goccia a goccia consuma la roccia.
Così notte dopo notte le dodici lune.

Thanks: to Moey of Sugarquill who did the beta reading.

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THE TWELVE MOONS

"Have you noticed? There is no moon tonight," The student sitting at her side on the fence looked embarrassed.

The blond girl sighed, ill at ease.

She didn't know these people.

She was born in Arles, and, of course, she was a Beauxbatons student. Yes, she really liked to spend part of her Christmas holidays here, at Hogsmeade, with her aunt. Her favourite aunt was a very kind woman... And she really loved her.

But... well, now she was simply growing up, and being there, in this odd ancient school, it was not that beautiful sometimes. Cosy, warm, ok, this could work, entertaining... well, not always.

Let's face it: she was not very good at making new friends.

And here everybody appeared to know everybody else.

The student at her side, one boy from this strange school, was silent.

"I think the moon is so nice," she tried again. Stubborn? Now he will think I am just the usual blond-haired, silly ditz. He will go off to get a drink. And he will not come back.

She started to move rhythmically but imperceptibly her foot.

I'll probably spend all the evening sitting here alone, in this dark spot. I don't need an orb to predict it...

She looked nervously at her nails. Eaten. I'd like him to get it over with and do what he obviously wants to - disappear. It would be better for both of us. The agony of a boy searching the right words is worse than a peaceful loneliness.

The boy was studying her calmly. No, she wasn't a silly girl. She was just shy, like he was. But she was also very lonely.

And perhaps, on this so odd party night, you could not help to speak about the moon. That moon that wasn't there at all...

He smiled at her, gently: "You know? Once upon a time I didn't like it at all."

"Really?" She was perplexed.

"Really. You could say I hated the moon." He shrugged with nonchalance.

"But later, I discovered there are up to twelve moons."

"Twelve?" the girl, gave him a defiant glimpse. She was not ugly at all, and she had discovered too soon that 'beautiful and dumb' was an obvious pairing some boys found entertaining.

"Indeed. You have twelve different moons." His voice was very patient.

"One moon is the moon of the frost. She shines on the frosty snow all over the forest, you can see a moon ray sparkle on the bending of a branch. It is not a huge moon, but the moonlit is everywhere. Silvery and fuzzy. You can discover the footprints of the animals across the paths, fading into the dark, and reappearing further.

It is the moon of the wild runs, to warm up your body. The breath becomes smoke just passing your lips. Your nose is iced. And the smells, well the smells are sharper like sudden stings, but so rare. Everything is sleeping.

This moon is the moon of the silent step, that suddenly crackles out, and shouts 'I am here'..."

"It looks like a nice moon...". Still a hint of suspicion in her voice?

"Indeed. You can really say it, and mean it. A very nice moon."

"And then you have the moon of the ghosts." He added slowly, "No more snow on earth. No more diffused light. But a lot of long shadows. It is the moon of the hidden: a centaur or a rabbit, they share the same silhouette. There are giants hiding in the dark, and you can rely only on your ears.

It is the moon of the defiant steps."

The girl smiled shyly in the dark. She hesitated, then said "But, later, you meet the warm moon of the sun coming back."

She had caught up with his thoughts. They smiled alone in the darkness, not daring to look at each other. "Springtime is coming.".

"Yes, and here it comes, the moon of the flowers."

"The one I like the most," she said quietly.

"Well, in the moonlit, you cannot discern the colours." His voiced had shades of sadness.

"But the smells, the smells are different!" Her voice had an excited note.

"Oh yes." A broad grin lightened his face. "The smells start becoming different. They start with something sweet and spiked, mixing with the wild damp of the woods."

"And then you have the moon of the sprouts."

The girl giggled softly. "I know very well the moon coming after. It is the yellow moon of the ripe corn. Where I was born, it is the beloved moon."

He nodded. No, she is not silly at all...

She found courage, and a deep breath. "Then you meet the cozy moons. The moon of the laughs. Women come back from the rice-fields singing. It is too hot to sleep quietly.

This moon tastes like never ending silly chats. You share the bed with your best girl friends, and you speak of the boy you fancy..." she stopped abruptly. Ashamed.

He smiled.

"A girl is not different than a boy." Perhaps she was too rash?

"Oh yes, of course..." Maybe he was too quick?

Both blushed. Then looked at each other. And burst out laughing.

The girl went on. "The harvest moon..." Now she was really at ease. She could look into his eyes. So dark. She hadn't notice them really. The boy had just been an unexpected presence in her harbouring spot.

The boy looked into her eyes They are beautiful. I didn't notice them before. Pale green. A so light colour. She has eyes like a cat.

"Well... ", he said suddenly, "I never saw those moons. When they come, school is over, and my friends are at their homes..." Gloom in his voice?

"So which moon do you see, then?" she said kindly.

"Well, I am pleased to meet again, the white moon of the birds' flight." He grinned. "And the big, big moon of the first brisk air."

The girl nodded slowly. "I know that moon too. It is the moon I can look at my window. Not so cold for the logs in the fireplace, but yet no heat, the kettle is always whistling, and the wind is tingling my skin."

"The eleventh moon is the moon of the leaves. Shrivelled leaves everywhere, smooth in the damp, frail under your paths. Your foot rustles. Or creaks."

The girl chuckled "It is so true."

And the last moon? They looked at each other smiling and said it together "It is the little moon of the dying sun.".

The girl said, happily, "The queen moon."

The boy said, sorrowfully, "The longest and darkest moon."

But now, the ice was broken. "I go get you something to drink."

She could not help a smile. He would come back. She was sure.

And, well, if he dared not to be back here at once, she would go get him. Sure. She would look for him all over the old castle.

She smiled.

While the boy was preparing two glasses of iced pumpkin juice, a tall boy approached him.

"Not bad that girl... over there. It seems you get along together. But, Remus, what have you been speaking about, for so long?"

"About the thing I know best."