They say there’s a rabbit who lives in the moon.
Some smile when they speak it,
or poets too far gone.
Others swear they’ve seen him:
a soft blur in the silver,
ears perked, paws steady,
silhouetted against the glow.
But whether you believe or not,
the rabbit doesn’t mind.
He has work to do.
Each night, when the sky blooms open like a silver blossom,
he begins his rhythm...
pounding rice in his stone mortar,
slow and steady,
a lullaby of labor and quiet purpose.
Not for fame.
Not for proof.
But because it’s what he’s always done.
Because some magicks are not loud,
but loyal.
When his task is done,
he shakes the stardust from his fur
and walks beside the Moon Goddess.
She says little... she rarely needs to.
Together, they glide across the sky,
her light spilling over rivers,
his paws padding softly beside her.
Below, a child makes a wish with eyes wide open.
A grandmother leaves rice by the window.
A dreamer writes by candlelight.
And somewhere,
someone swears the moon is smiling back.
The rabbit notices.
He always does.
Even if you doubt him...
he sees you.
Even if you forget...
he remembers.
For belief isn’t what makes him real.
The moon still shines.
The rabbit still walks.
And every night,
the story goes on.
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Written by Zenaida Nina, known as Baba the Storytelling Witch | Moonstone Cottage. Inspired by popular Moon Rabbit folklore.
Copyright© 2025. All rights reserved.
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