One afternoon in late October, autumn made its presence known in the English countryside for the quiet acts of dancing leaves and the chill of wind gusts. This subtle announcement signified the upcoming arrival of the harvest moon, an event that a tiny village overlooking a golden sea of wheat looked forward to every year.

Each residence and storefront boasted displays of wooden fruits, corn dollies, leaf wreaths, garlands of floating paper forest animals, and unique lunar forms. At two o’clock, the village’s schoolhouses let out, and cobblestone streets were pummeled by children’s shoes and old carts piled with round vanilla cream-filled cakes, treacle toffee sickles, and coated apples.

An hour later, adults poured outside their houses and stores. Each person wore ornate masks resembling fauna. Foxes, deer, hedgehogs, wolves, owls, and salmon walked and ran up and down the road, with autumn’s wind to accompany them. They laughed, cried, shouted, and gobbled up goodies, one of whom, a boy, spilled some caramel on the right cheek of his mouse mask.

The evening wore on. Lovers kissed in alleyways, broken hearts drowned their sorrows in porter at the local pub, and wallflowers peacefully ignored pitiers as they sat alone. Street lamps glowed one by one in the dying sun as shadows of villagers’ decorations appeared to stretch and yawn.

At length, a proclamation rang. “Look! The harvest moon appears!” A woman in a hare’s mask shouted. Everyone’s festive moods fell into a somber note, and every masked head turned toward the east near the wheat field, which lay below the giant vessel rising.

A minute of silence passed, and cheers rang out!

“Huzzah, the celestial pumpkin is back!”

“It’s time!”

“I’ve waited for this moment!”

The mouse-child tugged at the skirt of his bear-mother and whispered, “Will we remember each other?”

“Yes, my son, I could never forget you. Don’t be frightened nor mourn, for our lives will be better than ever.”

The mama hugged the mouse boy who returned the favor with a kiss and candy.

A stout man disguised as a wolf stood at a podium, where his voice boomed to the audience below.

“Villagers of Monawendan, we have been blessed with the presence of our goddess! As your leader, I propose we thank her for our harvest and attendance! Tonight, we will go through death, transfiguration, and rebirth. Come now to the golden field!”

Lanterns held by white and red foxes led the merry band eastward, growing dimmer with every step until there was nobody left.

Once they arrived at the field, everyone received a sickle and a small bottle of dark liquid.

The harvest moon hung low over the group, to which it seemed possible to reach out and caress her smooth surface.

Monawendan’s mayor gestured to the celestial object, then turned back to his villagers.

“Bramble Brown-Mouse, please lead us in this ceremony.”

Bramble Brown-Mouse hugged his mother, moved forward, and then breathed deeply to recite the speech.

“Dear Monawendians, for too long we’ve toiled and suffered within the flesh confines of our human bodies. Each one of us grows weary of the trials and tribulations of humanity, and it is on this day each year our true selves can be explored. This night, however, is different, for our lunar goddess lit the way to salvation with each cycle, using her beams to enter dreams and foretell the new world we’ll enter through drink and sickle. Tonight is when every one of us transforms into their true selves and homes! All hail Monawendan! All hail harvest moon.

Once finished, Bramble walked back, and the mayor spoke.

“It is time; she has given her blessings. Pluck one spike.”

The townsfolk obeyed.

“Good, drink the potion.”

Once again, they did as commanded.

“Now, lift your sickles, and recite the harvest moon’s prayer!”

He was answered by the collective drone hidden beneath tall, growing stalks.

“Oh bountiful harvest moon. We thank you thousands of times. Please free our souls from these useless bodies and give us new life where we may serve a greater purpose for you!”

“Let our ceremony begin!”

People swung their weapons up, then down.

 Two hundred suns passed.

.                                                                       .                                                                       .

“Monawendan Forest, is that where we are?” One of the women muttered between breaths.

“Yeah, it’s an ancient one at that,” the other said, retying her boot. “People say this place appeared out of nowhere. Historical records mention a village once, but only rusted sickles were found.”

“Doesn’t that mean farmers lived here?”

“I guess. There’s a wheat field further east, but then again, travelers could’ve stopped there.”

“Perhaps, but that’s ancient history. This forest is beautiful, though.”

“I know. It’s out of a fairy tale.”

“It’s nice to get out of the city and into nature… oh!”

A small nut fell on the first woman’s head. She caught it.

“One thing I hate about autumn is things that fall on your head.”

“Rachel, look!”

A cautious mouse scurried to the feet of Rachel.

“Umm, Carol?”

“I think he wants his lunch back.”

“Here you go, love. Enjoy.” Rachel put it on the floor, and the creature picked it up. He nodded and ran into the trees.

“He’s so adorable!” Carol cooed.

“I guess, but let’s get inside before more stuff falls on us.”

The two girls walked home; Rachel spoke up again.

“That mouse seemed to nod at me in thanks.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. He had a cute caramel-colored mark on his right cheek.”

Editor: Lucy Cafiero