text: &#x200B; A tiny hand reaches towards a small, round, faintly glowing berry growing in a wild berry bush. “Not ready!” an elderly woman chirps, smacking the hand away only hard enough to sting for a second. The hand, belonging to a wide-eyed, confused boy, retracts quickly from the berry bush. The child looks up at the woman, eyebrows furrowed unhappily. “Why not, Oma?” the child whines. “The moon is not full in the sky,” the woman says, turning and pointing through the trees at the just over half-full moon, “We must wait until it is full, that is when the berries are ripest.” The child looks to the moon and sighs dejectedly at the sight of the thing. “How much fuller does it got to be?” the child questions once he turns his attention back to his grandmother. The woman looks back up to the sky and squints her eyes. She purses her lips and shrugs, “Not much longer,” she reaches for his hand, and lifts a basket of berries from the ground, “We will come back when it is time.” The boy glances to the moon one final time before grabbing his grandmother’s hand and following her down the dirt path back to their village. As the boy lays his bed that night, he finds himself searching for the moon through the cracks in his blinds. Once he’s sure his parents are sound asleep in the other room, he slides out from under the covers and hastily yanks the string to his blinds. They reel open with a clatter, and he jerks his head to his door, waiting for someone to come running in at the noise. He stands, breathless for more than a minute, staring through the dark of his room. Finally, he lets out a sigh and peers through his window. The moon almost seems to stare back at him, its eye only half open. He traces the outline of it on his window with the tip of his finger thoughtfully. Suddenly, he jumps up with an idea on his mind, and hurriedly tip-toes over to his drawer. He digs through it as quietly as a child can, and eventually pulls out a small marker. He pops the lid off the marker and begins to draw on his window, giving the moon a second, crudely drawn eye and a toothy smile. He smiles similarly back at it, only with his front two teeth missing. At this point, he slinks back into bed and curls up under his covers. The boy stares out the window until sleep eventually takes him. He repeats this same routine each night for days, watching as the moon’s light slowly creeps from center to edge. “*Psst*,” his grandmother whispers through the crack in his door one night. He had only just gotten into bed, and wondered why she would come at such a late hour to see him. “Oma?” he questioned curiously. “Yes,” she says, peeking her head into the door with an excited grin, “Put your clothes on, it’s time.” The boy had never jumped out of bed so quickly in his life. “Quietly!” she chirps in a hushed yell. He nods and continues getting ready. Soon, they’re back on the path to the patch of forest again. The boy looks down at his hand that his grandmother is not holding, and watches it tremble with excitement. He can see the bush before they even get to it, and wonders why it is covered in fireflies for a moment. All at once, he realizes that it is *not* fireflies, but the berries that are glowing so brightly. The boy tears away from his grandmother and sprints towards the berries, smiling from ear to ear. His grandmother lets him go easily, as she remembers her first time seeing the moonberries, too. In pure awe, he stands in front of the bush. He cautiously reaches towards one, a single finger extended out. He pokes one, gently pressing its glowing skin. He giggles, and turns towards his grandma who is finally by his side. He looks to the berries, then back at her. She nods in approval, placing her hand on his back to urge him forward. She holds her basket near him in wait. The boy plucks one, causing the leaves to quietly rustle. He goes to place it into the basket but his grandma stops him. She points to his mouth and his eyes widen. “Can I?” he asks. “Your patience should be rewarded,” she says softly, glancing up at the moon. He turns to the moon, still holding the plump berry between his fingers. Closing his eyes, he puts the berry into his mouth and bites down. The taste is unlike anything he had before. It’s sweet, tangy, yet mild in flavor. He savors it as long as he can before it melts away from his taste buds. When it’s over, he and his grandmother begin to pick handfuls of the ripe berries to fill the basket. They stand there for some time, combing through the bush that never seems to run out of berries no matter how many they pick. Once she is satisfied, his grandmother takes the boy’s hand and they begin back down the path to their village, both with smiles plastered on their faces. The boy looks up at the full moon as they walk, imagining its one, gleaming eye looking down on him fondly. He sends it one last toothless grin, and giggles.