Mama Quilla

I knew something was happening before I reached the plaza because nearly every woman in the settlement seemed to be moving in the same direction. Some carried food or vessels. Others brought folded cloth. A group of younger girls walked together behind several older women, speaking quietly until they reached the gathering place and joined everyone else.

The Moon had only just risen above the mountains.

I stayed near the edge because I did not know what I had walked into. An older woman noticed me and motioned that I could remain. No one seemed hurried. People arranged themselves, exchanged food and drink, and waited while the Moon climbed higher. At one point several women lifted their faces toward her together. The plaza became so quiet that I could hear water moving somewhere beyond the houses.

Later, one of the women pointed toward the Moon and traced its shape with her finger. She showed me several forms with her hands: a narrow crescent, something larger, then a circle. After that, she pointed toward the fields. I remembered seeing newly worked earth along the terraces earlier that day and finally understood that she was showing me more than the Moon itself.

She was showing me time.

The gathering continued well into the evening. I watched older women beside younger ones, families sharing food, and everyone repeatedly turning their attention toward Mama Quilla overhead. Her light changed very little while I was watching, yet everyone there understood where she had come from and what shape she would take next.

Walking back to where I was staying, I realized how rarely I experience time that way. I count days by what I have finished and what still needs to be done. Tonight, time had a face. It grew, became full, diminished, disappeared, and returned.