Ora, Pib, and the Harvest Moon Feast

The Harvest Moon came up big and orange over the Moonlit Forest, like somebody had hung a pumpkin in the sky.

And that meant one thing.

Feast night.

High in the tallest oak, Pib was bouncing so hard the whole branch wobbled.

“Is it time? Ora, is it TIME?”

Ora smoothed down a feather on top of his head. It sprang right back up.

“Almost. Mama says when the moon touches the hill.”

“I’m getting the BIGGEST piece of blackberry pie,” he announced. “And the best seat. And I’m going first.”

“Everybody wants the best seat, Pib.”

“Yes, but I want it the MOST.”

The whole forest had helped.

The rabbits had picked the blackberries, and only eaten a few. Well. Quite a few.

The hedgehog had found eleven acorns and carried them over one at a time, which took him most of Tuesday.

The old badger had hauled a basket of sweet roots from the far side of the stream.

And Mama Owl had baked the pie.

At last the moon touched the hill.

Pib zoomed down. Well, he fluttered down, mostly sideways, into a pile of leaves.

Then he ran for the mossy stump at the end of the log table. The best seat.

“MINE,” said Pib, and sat on it hard.

Then he reached for the big piece of pie. Before anybody else had even sat down.

“Pib,” said Ora.

“What? I got here first.”

Ora didn’t scold. She just pointed.

The old badger stood at the edge of the clearing, rubbing his knee.

“He carried the roots,” Ora whispered. “All that way. His knees are creaky.”

Pib looked at the badger.

He looked at the stump.

“But I wanted it,” he said, small and cross at the same time.

“I know,” said Ora. “Wanting is allowed.”

Pib thought about it. For almost a whole minute.

Then he slid off.

“You can have the good seat, Mr. Badger,” he mumbled.

The badger sat down with a creak and a big happy OOF.

“Thank you, young owl. My knees thank you too.”

Pib squeezed onto the bumpy log next to Ora. Secretly, that was the best seat anyway.

Before the pie, Mama Owl clapped her wings.

“At the Harvest Moon Feast, everyone says one thank-you first.”

Pib’s wing shot up. “Me! Me first!”

Ora leaned in. “What if you go last?” she whispered. “Then you get to hear all the good ones.”

Pib frowned. Then he put his wing down.

The rabbits said thank you for the rain that made the blackberries fat.

The hedgehog said thank you for his eleven acorns, every single one, even the small one with the wobbly hat.

The badger said thank you for a soft seat on a cold night, and winked at Pib.

Then it was Pib’s turn.

“Thank you to the rabbits for the berries,” he said, very fast. “And the hedgehog for walking all Tuesday. And Mr. Badger for carrying. And Mama for the pie.”

He looked at Ora.

“And Ora. For being bossy.”

Everybody laughed.

“You’re welcome,” said Ora, and bumped him with her wing.

Pib didn’t get the biggest piece in the end.

He got a middle one with a burnt corner.

He gave a bite to the moth, who hadn’t brought anything but came anyway, which was fine.

It was still the best pie he had ever tasted. He said so four times.

Later, Ora carried a very full Pib home to the tallest oak.

He snuggled into the nest with blackberry on his beak.

“Ora?”

“Mm?”

“Next year, can I go first?”

“Maybe.”

“Actually… can I go last again? Last was good.”

But Ora was already asleep.

Down in the clearing, the old badger was snoring on the mossy stump.

Goodnight, little owlets.

Goodnight, Harvest Moon.