The moon rose silently in the velvety dark sky.  Her brilliance shone on the cold white fields below, as they in turn reflected her silvery rays back toward her as if in mockery.

She trailed her moonbeams through the tall pines, gently ruffling their tops as if teasing them for a moment.

Glancing down at her sister, Mother Earth, she smiled in disdain.  What did she know of being over the whole world?

Only she – the Moon, and their brother – the Sun, knew the power of climbing high in the sky and causing tides to turn, of causing deserts to burn.

As she quietly surveyed the land below, it came to her that Earth had a certain glow.  Almost. . . as if a mother waiting to give birth; waiting for the buds of Spring to burst forth.

In anguish, the lovely December moon knew that she would never have the joy of giving life to any living thing.  Perhaps, she thought, it is Earth who is the best of us after all. . . perhaps.