myth for fireweed

Sweetie slept for many days. Resting in the deepest part of the moon. All she wanted - she realized, was silence, darkness, nothing but candlelight and the warm glow of the moon when they walked in the gardens of white, grey, purple, and black flowers.

It was not time for her to meet the moon goddesses.

The wrinkled woman would come and meet her. She soon found that the woman was the keeper of the moon. It is her face we see. It is her we are in awe of. She is the moon, but she is not the entire moon. She navigated it through the sky. It was only them. The goddesses of the moon had many places to be. They wove with water. They often spent long weeks, years, in the deepest part of the ocean. The goddesses of the moon were not entirely separate from her, she tried to explain. They will return soon, but she could not produce the gift until all of them were present.

Sweetie walked over the dark side of the moon watching the stars like they were ancient geese - they looked like the white heron flowers outside the window at home. She followed them quietly. For now the pains she was nursed seemed distant. She had become so comfortable she would forget her hands were made of wood. She liked to wriggle her fingers, until she realized they weren’t there and her heart skipped a beat, she remembered what she was hiding in addition to her mission. She longed to find bitter again, just to talk, to remember. To have a friend.

At once Sweetie ran into a pool of water. From here she could see a single star reflected in it, but when she looked up, the star was nowhere to be seen. She followed the light of the star into the water and down. She only had to swim for several strokes before the light led her to a warm tunnel, where the water dispersed into countless droplets of mist. She walked for some time in this burrow, soil on all sides, following the pale light, until she came to a field with tremendous purple flowers all around and a clear blue sky with mountains all around. She turned back to see if the tunnel was there, but it was gone. She shivered. The cold getting to her. She could not understand how she was meant to return, to present the jimsonweed, to ask the moon goddesses for assistance. She was foolish to follow the star so far.

She called out.

The lovely flowers were the only ones to respond, “winter is coming, winter is coming.” They wrapped around her and made a garment - all of purple.