The Moonstone Umbrella
Girl named Flora finds magical umbrella and discovers the Moon has forgotten her place in the sky, so Flora helps return her home.
- 6 min read
Flora discovered the umbrella on a Tuesday, which was unusual because magical things typically happened on Saturdays.
It was leaning against her bedroom window when she woke up—a silvery-blue umbrella that shimmered like starlight trapped in silk. A small tag dangled from its curved handle, and in swirly golden letters, it read: For Flora, When the Moon Forgets.
“When the moon forgets what?” Flora wondered aloud, running her fingers along the smooth handle. It felt warm, like holding a cup of cocoa, and tiny specks of light danced beneath the fabric like fireflies having a party.
That evening, Flora noticed something peculiar. The moon wasn’t in the sky.
She pressed her nose against her bedroom window and searched the velvety darkness. Stars twinkled and winked, but the moon’s usual glowing face was nowhere to be seen.
“Maybe it’s hiding behind a cloud?” she suggested to her stuffed rabbit, Mr. Whiskers, but the sky was perfectly clear.
That’s when she remembered the umbrella’s tag: When the Moon Forgets.
Flora grabbed the moonstone umbrella and opened it with a satisfying whoooosh. The moment she did, something extraordinary happened. Her feet lifted gently off the ground—just an inch, then two, then three—until she was floating like a dandelion seed on a summer breeze.
“Oh my!” Flora giggled, holding tight to the umbrella handle as she drifted toward her open window. Mr. Whiskers tumbled from her arms and landed safely on her pillow, his button eyes seeming to say, Be careful!
The umbrella carried Flora out into the night, higher and higher, past the tops of the sleepy oak trees, above the blinking lights of her neighborhood, until she was soaring through clouds that felt like cool cotton candy against her toes.
“Excuse me,” called a gentle voice. “Are you Flora?”
Flora spun around (which is quite easy when you’re floating) and discovered a small, silver owl with feathers that clinked softly like wind chimes.
“I am!” Flora replied. “Who are you?”
“I’m Celeste, the Moon’s Messenger,” the owl said, flying in a worried circle around Flora. “Oh, thank goodness you came! The Moon has forgotten where she belongs. She’s wandered off to the Sleepy Meadows and won’t come back to the sky. Without the Moon, all the nighttime creatures are terribly confused. The stars don’t know how brightly to shine, the tides don’t know whether to come or go, and the dreams don’t know which sleeping children to visit!”
“The Moon forgot?” Flora asked. “How does the Moon forget where she lives?”
Celeste ruffled her tinkling feathers. “Sometimes, even the Moon gets tired of doing the same thing every single night. She wanted to see what it’s like down on the ground, among the flowers and grass. But now she’s fallen asleep in the Sleepy Meadows, and those meadows make everyone forget everything!”
“Then we’ll have to remind her!” Flora said bravely, though her tummy did a tiny nervous flip.
Celeste guided Flora through the star-speckled sky until they descended into a meadow filled with the most enormous flowers Flora had ever seen. Each blossom was the size of a beach ball, and they swayed gently, humming a lullaby that made Flora’s eyelids feel heavy.
“Don’t listen to the flowers,” Celeste warned. “That’s how the forgetting happens!”
Flora spotted the Moon immediately. She was curled up between two purple flowers that smelled like lavender and birthday cake, glowing softly but sleeping soundly. The Moon was much smaller than Flora expected—about the size of a beach ball herself—and she had a peaceful smile on her luminous face.
“Moon?” Flora called gently, landing beside her with the umbrella still open. “Moon, it’s time to wake up.”
The Moon yawned, and stardust puffed from her mouth like glittering breath on a cold day. “Mmm, five more minutes,” she mumbled.
“But the sky needs you!” Flora insisted. “The stars are lonely, the tides are confused, and children everywhere are waiting for their dreams!”
The Moon opened one sleepy eye. “Do they really need me? The sun does most of the important work…”
“The sun is wonderful,” Flora agreed, “but nighttime wouldn’t be nighttime without you! You make shadows into friends instead of scary things. You help owls hunt and wolves sing. You show us that even in darkness, there’s always light.”
The Moon sat up slowly, rubbing her glowing face. “I… I had forgotten all of that.” She looked around at the meadow, confused. “Where am I? How did I get here?”
“You wandered off,” Celeste explained. “But Flora came with the Moonstone Umbrella to bring you home.”
Flora held out the shimmering umbrella. “Would you like to share? I think it’s big enough for both of us.”
The Moon’s face brightened—literally, growing more luminous with each passing second. “I would love that,” she said warmly.
Together, Flora and the Moon held the umbrella handle. The moment they touched it at the same time, magic sparkled through the air like invisible fireworks. They lifted off from the Sleepy Meadows, the flowers below calling, “Come back soon!” in their drowsy voices.
As they floated upward, the Moon grew bigger and brighter, remembering her purpose and power. By the time they reached the highest point in the sky, she was her full magnificent self—a glowing silver disk that painted everything below in gentle light.
“Thank you, Flora,” the Moon said, her voice now echoing across the whole night sky. “I won’t forget again. Well… probably not for a very long time, anyway.”
She winked, and Flora giggled.
“Would you like to visit sometimes?” the Moon asked. “The umbrella will bring you whenever you need an adventure. Just open it and think of me.”
“Really?” Flora asked, her eyes shining as bright as the stars.
“Really and truly,” the Moon promised.
Celeste flew Flora back home, where she drifted gently through her bedroom window. The moonstone umbrella folded itself neatly and leaned against the wall, its light dimming to a soft glow.
Mr. Whiskers was exactly where she’d left him, and Flora scooped him up with a hug. Outside her window, the Moon beamed down, fuller and brighter than Flora had ever seen her.
As Flora snuggled under her blankets, a silvery beam of moonlight stretched across her floor like a pathway made of light. She could hear the Moon humming softly, a lullaby just for her—the girl who reminded the Moon of who she was and where she belonged.
“Thank you for remembering me,” the Moon whispered through the window.
“Thank you for lighting up the night,” Flora whispered back.
And as Flora drifted off to sleep, she dreamed of silver owls and floating through clouds and moonbeams that felt like warm hugs from the sky itself.
The moonstone umbrella stood watch in the corner, ready for the next time magic called.
After all, magical things can happen any day of the week—even on a Tuesday.
The End