Long ago and far away, there was a land where all was as it should be. 

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Life seemed to flow along in perfect balance.  The two leggeds, the four leggeds, the six leggeds and even the eight leggeds lived as though they knew that they were interconnected, and one could not live fully, could not survive and thrive, without the wellbeing of the other. And though the world felt whole, it remained so only because each being tended to its place in it.

 

Then one day, a day no less ideal than the last, a seed was carried on the breeze and landed in a meadow next to a river.  Because this land had just the right amount of sun and the right amount of rain for life to grow, the seed took root.

 

No one paid much mind to the seed that had sprouted because all was well and all had always been well.  The sprouting of a tiny seed that blew in on the wind was no more significant and no less miraculous than anything that had happened before. 

 

Days became weeks. The tender sprout grew much stronger and longer.  Its tendrils crept across the meadows and along rivers.  The cattails along the waters gave way and eddies swirled where the grasslands used to be.

 

New shoots spiraled around tree trunks, webbing across the canopy. Plants that were used to the warm embrace of sunlight: the grasses, the sage, and the milkweed, began to die away as the vine drank in the sun for itself. 

 

The creatures noticed that all was not as it once was. 

 

They went to the Wind, who first carried the seed. 

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"Can you help us?" they asked?  

"Could you blow this shroud of vines from our land?"

 

“Why should I?” said the Wind. 

"It is not my fault seed has caused all this trouble.  I don’t choose where seeds fall, for I am just the Wind."

 

After much pleading, the Wind relented. It blew with all of its might.  The trees bent nearly sideways with the force of the gale.  With each blast, the banks of the river seeped even farther into the land, flooding as far as the eye could see. 

 

But the vine held.

 

When the Wind died down and the creatures came out from their shelters, they watched in silence as tiny seeds from the vine released by the Wind floated through the sky, just as the original seed came to their own holler.

 

The seeds blew into new hills and valleys and along new riverbanks and waterways.  And still the vine grew.  

 

Seeking a solution that would free them from the vine’s grasp, the creatures sought the help of the Clouds, for surely the vine could not grow without the rain.  They begged the Clouds to let no more rain fall.

 

“Will you help us?,” they pleaded 

 

“Even if we could stop the rain from falling," the Clouds said, "it would do no good because you would die too.”

 

The creatures felt the ominous weight of fate pressing in.  Tempers flared.  They were not used to such hardship.  The peace they had known--devoid of challenge---was chanaged.

 

The creatures wondered what would become of them.  With the dawn of each new day, so came the dawning that the life they knew was forever changed.  

 

Recognizing that the end was near, She-wolf spoke. “I will eat the sun," she said.  "With no sun, there will be no light for this vine to grow.” 

 

A hush fell.

 

Doubt whispered among the creatures. 

 

Owl spun its head around and hooted, “If the sun disappears, we may well perish along with the vine.  Are we ready to trade one death for another?  Perhaps there is another way.  We must not act in haste.”

 

Many creatures trembled in fear, nodding their heads in agreement. 

 

Deer stepped forward, stomped the earth with her hooves and flashed her tail, white as moonlight, a signal that the time to act was upon them.

 

In acceptance, the creatures turned to the Wolf and bowed.​​

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With a long breath in and a slow breath out, a stillness fell upon the Wolf and silence among the creatures. With another great inhale she opened her jaws wide and pointed her nose to the sky.​​​​​  She drew the rays of the sun into her and swallowed it in one radiant gulp.

 

Molten light poured down her throat into her belly like a river of fire.  She glowed gold.  Pain braided her ribs.  The pressure of an entire day pressed against them with such force she feared it would crack her into pieces.  Despite the agony, her ears rang with a tone of clarity; not whether she would survive this great act but that healing would be brought by the night that was to come. 

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Just as consciousness was leaving her, Spider descended from the branches, fast as a heart beat, precise as a thousand hunts.  She wrapped Wolf, smothering the flames and holding her body safe. Wolf fell to the earth with steam rising from her body, the glow dimming as the last coals of a waning fire. 

 

In that moment, the world ended as anyone had known it.  Day became night with the speed of a swallow. 

 

The air cooled. 

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A stillness settled. 

 

As the darkness overcame them, so did the urge to sleep.  The creatures surrendered their worry and their fears to the darkness, that was now illuminated by the rise of the moon. They slept tucked into each other, warmed by their closeness, while the night healed the land.

 

Without the light of the sun, the vine receded.  It withered and slid down trees, freeing them of its great weight. It released the banks of ponds, streams and rivers. The waterways began to reshape.​​​​​​​

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Guided by the light of the moon, the pollinators of the night replenished the land.  The moths, the bats, the beetles, and the mice spread pollen from flower to flower.

 

The night air smelled of jasmine, tuberose and gardenia. The silvery leaves of artemisia and lamb’s ears glistened the light of the stars back to them.  Casa blanca lily, evening primrose and moon flower danced in the breeze, their own pollen carried by the Wind.

 

No one knows how long the creatures of the world were asleep. They slept until the earth was healed.  Until the shasta daisy, dead nettle and petunias had their place.  Until the flowering tobacco and the mock orange flourished.  Until there was abundance and bio-diversity once again under the glow of the moon beams.

 

When the creatures awoke, they saw the earth restored.  They gave thanks to the Wolf who had swallowed the sun and to the gentle night which gave birth to the world anew. 

 

And so we remember—
the wolf,
the night,
and the courage it takes
to change the world

by brave action

by working together 

And by letting it rest.

May we carry this story gently.
May we know when to act,
and when to be still.

And may we never forget
that even in the dark,
life knows how to begin again.