Once upon a time,
In a barren,
Windswept desert,
There lived a small moth named Miro.
Miro was unlike the other moths.
While they fluttered happily around small campfires or hovered near lanterns in the village,
Miro had always felt there was something more,
Something beyond the ordinary lights of the world.
But for now,
The light of the fire was more than enough.
It gave him direction,
Comfort and a place to belong.
One fateful night,
However,
A fierce storm rolled in,
Sweeping across the land and snuffing out every light in sight.
The fires were drowned by the rain,
The lanterns flickered and died,
And the world was plunged into a suffocating darkness.
Miro fluttered frantically,
Disorientated,
His wings wet and heavy.
He felt lost,
Unsure of where to go,
With no familiar lights to guide him home.
Sometime later,
However,
When the clouds began to part,
Miro looked up,
And there it was,
The moon.
It hung alone in the sky,
Glowing softly,
Distant and serene.
It was the only light visible for miles around.
Its pale beams seemed to be reaching out to him,
Calling him from the darkness.
He'd always admired the moon from afar,
Watching it from the safety of the ground,
But now it seemed like it was all he had.
I have a great idea.
I will fly to the moon,
Miro whispered to himself.
The idea seemed absurd,
Almost impossible,
But something deep inside him had stirred.
He'd never flown so high,
Never ventured beyond the warmth of the nearby flames,
But the moon's light was the only source of hope that he seemed to have left.
With a determined flutter of his wings,
Miro rose into the air,
Beginning his long journey toward the glowing orb in the sky.
At first,
He was filled with energy,
His wings strong and steady,
The vastness of the night spread out around him,
And the moon,
His only companion,
Hung above like a guardian.
The stars seemed to twinkle,
As if cheering him on,
But as he ascended,
The air grew colder.
The wind sharper.
His wings began to tire,
And doubt crept into his heart.
What if I never make it?
What if I fall back to the earth before I even get close?
Miro thought,
Glancing down at the seamlessly endless stretch of desert below.
The ground looked so far away now,
And the moon seemed impossibly distant.
He was just a tiny moth after all,
What could he possibly achieve against the vastness of the sky?
But Miro shook his head,
Refocusing on the moon.
Even if I can't reach it,
He said softly,
I must keep flying.
I have to.
So Miro pushed on,
His wings beating against the cold night air.
With every gust of wind that threatened to knock him off course,
Miro found new strength,
Guided by the steady glow of the moon.
As he flew higher and higher,
Something magical began to happen.
The light of the moon reflected off his wings,
Making them shimmer like silver.
He felt lighter,
Freer,
As though the moon was lending him a part of its own strength.
Hours passed by,
And Miro's exhaustion grew.
His wings ached,
And he felt as though he couldn't go on.
The moon,
Though still far away,
Seemed closer than it ever had been before.
But now,
The first light of dawn began to creep over the horizon,
And with it,
The moon began to fade.
Miro watched on with a tired heart,
As the soft glow that had guided him all night slowly dimmed,
Swallowed up by the morning sky.
Swallowed up by the morning sky.
His heart sank.
Had all this effort been for nothing?
But then,
As the sun's first rays kissed the earth,
Miro realised something extraordinary.
Though he hadn't touched the moon,
Hadn't reached the distant light he'd set out for,
He had soared higher than he'd ever thought possible.
He'd ventured into the unknown,
Chasing something beyond himself,
And in doing so,
He'd discovered his own strength.
Looking down once again,
Miro saw the vast desert stretching beneath him,
A landscape he had never seen from this height.
He'd flown farther and higher than any other moth he knew,
All because he'd dared to follow the one light that called him when all the others went dark.
A gentle warmth filled his chest as he glided back down to earth,
His wings glistening in the soft dawn light.
Miro had learned that sometimes the beauty of a journey lies not in reaching the destination,
But in the courage to pursue it,
Even when it seems out of reach.
The sun was beaming down over the desert,
And even though the moon had gone,
His light would forever shine in Miro's heart.
