The brilliance of it shines pale grey-white like a seagull's feathers in the sea of black inky oil, giving her the only light there was. The leaves in hues of red and shades of brown, yellows and oranges as vibrant as a stoplight and as dim as the mucky slime that they call baby food. They fall, floating gracefully down to the ground from their uppermost perch in the city's version of a forest canopy. As a baby-food-orange colored leaf breaks from its tree, the wind picks up and goes from summer-breeze worthy to those great winter gusts, causing a girl nearby to shiver and pull her coat closer, realizing it is now Autumn.

The girl can almost see the leaves' sad faces as the trees abandon them, leaving them to shrivel and die on the cold, wet dirt, being stepped on by the pesky city people that don't seem to know what they are crushing- or they don't care. But she- she picks up that one baby-food-orange leaf and holds it out in front of her, gently- oh so gently- lifting it to the full moon's soothing white light. She says a couple words and right in front of her rain-cloud-grey eyes it changes from a crumbly dead leaf to a beautiful, lively, cloud-white flower.

Thus, it became known as the Moonflower, only showing its brilliant petals under the light of the bright seagull-feather moon.