We kids find everything new and novel, but often not to our contentment. On Mid-autumn night, we sit on the courtyard, expecting the moon to come up but, after a long while of waiting, it isn't. We move back to the middle room of the house and, drawing the bamboo curtain down, plead with Grandma to tell stories. Grandma is a good story-teller. She tells one and we want another...and suddenly, she says:

“The moon is coming in.”

We turn to look and, sure enough, it has climbed into the bamboo curtain. Slowly and quietly, it is slipping in and showing up in the full-length mirror in front of the window: it turns out that the moon has legs, walking up to the checked curtain, presenting itself first in a whitish line, then in a crescent and, as it is climbing further on in the mirror, it becomes a full circle. We are all delighted, but hold our breath for fear that it might be the shadow of dust and get blown away with a slight breath. Along that curtain the moon is still climbing, losing its fullness bit by bit, until it is gone altogether, leaving the blank mirror standing there and a disappointment in our hearts. Grandma says:

“It is gone， because it's in a hurry; go and look for it outside.”