There was a new moon when we moved into the new house and, when my mother unpacked the mirror, it was broken. She was distraught. ”Seven years bad luck! And it’s already cut my finger!” My mother is very superstitious. But my grandmother, dragging the first aid box out from under a purple blanket and a pile of old books, said ‘No problem, love. Take is out back to the stream. Bury it under running water. Then bow to the moon. That will sort it. I’ll go and buy us all fish and chips while you do it.’
Now my mother is no longer the person she was. She forgot to bow to the moon that night and grandma drowned in the stream the next afternoon.
The Dreaming Path 