The idea of a 'mirror' possibly located at autumn equinox gives rise to complex questions and we therefore have to proceed slowly and carefully.

To begin with, sun behaves as if there was a mirror at noon; sun goes up in the east in the morning, rises towards 'zenith' and declines towards the west. Although we cannot see him during the night, he must continue his journey under the earth in order to rise again next morning in the east. If not a circular movement, at least - certainly - a cyclical journey.

Sun has another journey too, the yearly movement. He seems to rise in the east and go down in the west at different points depending on the season. He apparently moves in a pendular pattern (sinus curve) if we regard the horizon as fixed.

His maximum ('zenith') height above the horizon (at noon) depends on from what point sun rises in the east (and at what point he goes down in the west). The season, therefore, also determines his maximum height during the day.

The seasons of the year are connected with the path of the sun.

The non-civilized Indians of America described it - in their continent-wide enlightened culture - as the two movements of respectively a swing (the sinusoidal movement at the horizon) and a vertical climbing movement (in the myth about the bird-nester).

Although I am close to the end of my reading of the monumental 4-volume work of Lévi-Strauss ('Mythologiques') I have yet to see him draw attention to the obvious conclusion formulated by me in the preceding sentence. He instead insists on describing the movements (as I understand him) as just aspects of a many-dimensional mythical structure - the parts of the common 'armature' of the Indians. He seems to be firmly rooted in a sociological perspective, where 'armatures' are arbitrary.

Although cause and effect are illusory, some phenomena are more firm than others. The sky is more stable than the rest, therefore more useful to base an 'armature' on. The moon is close to the earth, not very stable, sun has his abode higher up, therefore closer to the firm star spangled 'roof'. The best is to use the stars as a frame of reference, the worst is to use the moon. Sun comes in between.

"M375_g-h. Snuqualmi. 'The kidnapped demiurge and the wives of the sun and moon.'

When the earth was still young and with hardly a tree on it, there was neither sun nor moon: a perpetual half-light prevailed, and humans and animals spoke the same language. Two women, who were busy digging fern roots were discussing whether it would be better for them to marry fishermen or hunters, and whether their stew would taste better with meat or fish.

Fish and fishermen → the dark 'watery' half of the year (and the night), while meat and hunters → the ligth 'dry land' half of the year (and the day). I recognize the two wives of the sun:

Finally, they wished for stars as husbands, and found themselves in the sky with their husbands. The latter brought back a lot of game but the eldest woman's husband had sore eyes.

The celestial world was like the earth, except that wind, storms and rain were unknown there. The star men allowed their wives to go on digging fern roots, provided they did not follow the roots too deeply.

Before long, the eldest woman gave birth to a son, whom she called Moon.

As the two women were bored, they did what they had been told not to do and broke the celestial vault: the wind rushed through the opening and they saw their native earth beneath.

The women made a long rope ladder and escaped. When they arrived at the village, they were greeted with open arms and everyone wanted to go and see the ladder leading to the sky. They made it into an enormous play swing, which swayed from mountain to mountain, moving from north to south and from south to north. As it swept along the ground, the tip of the swing caused the gulches, which still exist today.

During these rejoicings, the woman who had become a mother hired a blind old toad to look after her child. Salmon-woman kidnapped him.

When the people realized what had happened, they promptly left the swing and set out to look for him. Only the rat stayed behind; he grawed the rope and the swing dropped down in a pile, forming a large rock in the Snuqualmi valley.

The rat, who gnawed the rope until it broke, I recognize as the kuhane of Hotu Matua (in the story about Ure Honu), a reincarnation of the ancient Egyptian wolf-god Upwaut who was located in the darkness between two solar years.

A 'rat' in the dark sounds very much like kiore uri:

After several attempts, Blue-Jay succeeded in crossing the great wall, cut horizontally in two with the two halves beating one against the other, which guarded the land of the dead, where the stolen child, now grown to manhood, was living.

The young man promised that he would soon return to his own people, and later he distinguished himself by such marvellous exploits as the creation of lakes, rivers and mountains, the division of animals into different species, the invention of fire, and the destruction of monsters ...

Finally he became the moon ..." (The Naked Man)

Up until the very last sentence we can see the sun child growing up and, like Maui, creating land in the light, (fishing land up from the watery dark deep). Maui also cut Tuna into (rational) parts.

The final statement (the change in the son to become the moon) does not ring true - sons are suns, not moons. Otherwise the myth - for once, compared with the multitude of twisted ('dark', 'mirrored') versions Lévi-Strauss are using for his 'grammar' of mythology - is very clear and rational. Maybe for political reasons the creator was forced to add moon as the final ruler.

Or maybe the creator knew the golden age had gradually fallen apart. First there were the firm stars and the sun swing, then (in a dark moment) the rope was gnawed to pieces, and it all came down to earth, with, at the end, only the wavering moon delivering a mixture of feeble light and darkness.

Once there may have been just simple observations of how sun rose in the east, passed above at noon and went down in the west. To describe the phenomenon it is enough to describe the process from dawn up to noon - the p.m. movement is just a mirror image of the a.m. movement. I remember the Q 'daylight calendar' which stops with a description of noon.

There is a 'mirror' at noon. Presumably Tezcatlipoca ('the smoking mirror') refers to the reflection of Quetzalcoatl (the green little sun bird flying up in the east):

However, at noon the face of the sun is not yet 'old and wrinkled'. Therefore, Tezcatlipoca must arrive as new ruler at the time when sun goes down in the west.

There is a mirror in the west. Tezcatlipoca is like the moon, luminous only because of reflected sun light.

We have (at least) two mirrors, one at noon and another at sundown.

According to the mirror at noon (and midsummer), sun must, beyond sundown (and autumn equinox), continue his backward movement (grow older) - and it is the domain of the moon. At midsummer sun turns around and starts to shrink in stature (as if moving away from us viewers). He reaches autumn equinox (the 'horizon') and quickly disappears behind the mountains in the west. Beyond them he still moves on, backwards all the time, until he is slowing down at midwinter solstice to be 'revitalized', 'reborn' and ready for a comeback. He swings. Apparently he swings also during his diurnal movement, because at sunup and sundown the movement is most noticeable.

The domain of the moon (the dark 'year) - stretches from autumn equinox (dusk) to spring equinox (dawn). Seen from another perspective, though, moon is born in the west and dies in the east. According to this perspective she moves towards the sun and ideally will meet him at noon (midsummer). At autumn equinox - if she met him there - she would meet the old feeble sun.

Sun moves on into the spirit world, while moon, as ruler of the 'night', remains in charge of business.

Moon in a way moves backwards in time, because she is facing the sun and moving towards him - who determines what is morning, noon and night. Sun moves forward towards the west - that determines time, moon rises in the west and moves towards the east, i.e. moves backwards in time.

We can understand why there is a waning moon sign in the autumn equinox vero in Eb5-10. Sun is declining and moon takes over. The top part (the sky) is dark, while the bottom part, connected with the top by way of the pillar of the cosmic tree, is the earth, and it all balances on the moon:

On the other (left) hand, moon is moving counterclockwise (against sun time) and at autumn equinox the red cloth (tapa mea) of sun takes over.

The solar tree reaches its maximum height at the midsummer vero, but there cannot be a lunar tree at autumn equinox because the growth of the moon cycles ca 13 times each year. Lunar trees have a short life cycle, a new tree is being born each new moon, a tree which is waxing and reaching maximum at full moon.

Considering the measure 420 days, the cycle which unites sun and moon, it can be said that at the end of the 7th flame of the sun a new cycle ('tree') is born.

'... suddenly a small green shoot appeared where Ku had stood ...'. Hawaiian kū equals tu'u (to stand erect, mast, pillar etc), and we can guess who he is - he is the cosmic 'tree'.

The measure 210 days beyond the 420th (and zero) night of the cycle, will stretch to 60 + 210 = 270 days beyond midwinter. At that point we find the top of this cosmic tree, and at that point also the 4th black quarter (and 2nd 'half-year' of the 7-flame 'year') begins.

3/4 of 24 is 16, where haú glyphs can mark the finish of the sun path:

The lunar calendar has Otua here, meaning - of course - that time is ripe for cutting down the fruit.

We find a ripe fruit illustrated in Ca1-16:

 

Ca1-16	Ca1-17	Ca1-18	Ca1-19	Ca1-20	Ca1-21

In Ca1-17 the cut has been made (cfr the left open leg). In Ca1-18 the end of the summer 'year' is defined (as 18 times 10 from the first summer day).

Ca1-19--20 is a pair, with sun first and moon as number 2. If the summer 'year' begins at spring equinox, it will end at autumn equinox, i.e. at the same time as the cosmic tree reaches it maximum height.

28 * 15 / 2 = 210 is in harmony with how half-way around the 420 day cycle the sunlit moon has arrived to the middle of her 8th cycle (7½) - it should be a time of full moon (given that the 420 day cycle begins at new moon).

The same type of calculation at midsummer gives 60 * 3 = 180 days from midwinter, and after subtracting 60 days (for the 7th flame) we then have 120 days. 120 / 28 = 4 cycles + 8 days. From this perspective we stand in front of Maharu (the 9th lunar night according to my interpretation of the Mamari calendar):

 

3rd period
	Ca7-8	Ca7-9	Ca7-10	Ca7-11	Ca7-12
	Ca7-13	Ca7-14	Ca7-15	Ca7-16
	Maharu	Ohua	Otua

Ma-haru I read at first:

 

Aaru To grasp, to grip, to grab, to hold: ka-aaru hiohio i te ura, hold the lobster firmly. Vanaga. 1. To raise; aaru ki te rima, to raise the arm. 2. (haruharu, aruaru). Churchill.

Aruaru Áruáru, reduplication of aaru: to grab firmly. Vanaga. 1. To pursue. P Mgv.: aruaru, to run after, to chase, to follow. Ta.: aruaru, to pursue. 2. To raise in waves, undulation. P Pau.: puhigaru, a bubble of water. Mgv.: garu, foam, froth. Mq.: naú, waves. Ta.: aru, billow, wave, flood. 3. (haruharu). Churchill.

Haru Haruharu. To rob, to steal, to arrest, to seize, to cling, to grasp unexpectedly, to take by force; robber (aruaru, aaru). Pau.: haru, to extort, to carry off, to usurp. Ta.: haru, robber, to seize by force. Churchill.

Maha-ru is another possibility:

 

Kaukau 1. Horizontal poles of a frame (of a hare paega, or a paina statue): he-hakatu'u te tama o te paina, he-kaukau, they erect the vertical poles of the paina then they lay upon them the horizontal ones. 2. Group of people: e-tahi tuitui reipá i Te Pei, ekó rava'a e-varu kaukau; i-garo ai i Hiva, i te kaiga, a necklace of mother-of-pearl is on te Pei, few will find it (lit: eight groups of people); it has remained in Hiva, in our homeland. 3. To go through, to pass through in unison; he-hogi-mai te ûka i te e'eo o te pua kaukau-á i roto ite hare, the girl smelt the fragrance of the pua wafting inside the house. 4. Newborn baby's first hand and feet movements (kaukau or kau). The five stages of a baby's development are: kaukau, puepe, tahuri, totoro, mahaga. Puepue = said of a newborn baby when, a few weeks old, it begins to distinguish people and objects: ku-puepue-á te poki. Tahuri = of a new-born baby, to move from side to side: ku-tahuri-á te poki. Totoro = to crawl; ki totoro te poki, when the baby crawls. Mahaga = baby when able to stand by itself. Vanaga.

Ru A chill, to shiver, to shudder, to quake; manava ru, groan. Ruru, fever, chill, to shiver, to shake, to tremble, to quiver, to vibrate, commotion, to apprehend, moved, to agitate, to strike the water, to print; manava ruru, alarm; rima ruru, to shake hands. P Pau.: ruru, to shake, to tremble. Mgv.: ru, to shiver with cold, to shake with fever, to tremble. Mq.: ú, to tremble, to quiver. Ta.: ruru, to tremble. Churchill. Ruru, to tremble, an earthquake. Sa.: lūlū, lue, to shake. To.: luelue, to roll; lulu, to shake. Fu.: lulū, to tremble, to shake, to agitate. Niuē: luelue, to shake; lūlū, to shake, to be shaken. Nuguria: ruhe, motion of the hands in dancing; luhe henua, an earthquake. Uvea, Ha.: lu, lulu, lululu, to shake, to tremble, to flap. Fotuna: no-ruruia, to shake. Ma.: ru, ruru, to shake, an earthquake. Ta., Rarotonga, Rapanui, Pau.: ruru, to shake, to tremble. Mgv.: ru, to tremble; ruru, to shake. Mq.: uu, to shake the head in negation; uuuu, to shake up. Uvea: ue i, to shake; ueue, to move. Rapanui: ueue, to shake. Churchill 2.

A wordplay between maharu and mamaru seems probable:

Maru Samoa: malū, gentle, easy, soft. Tonga: malu, loose, soft, mild, easy. Uvea, Nukuoro: malu, tender, soft. Hawaii: malu, quiet. Futuna: malŭ, tender. Nuguria: maru, soft. Tahiti: maru, soft, gentle, easy. Paumotu: hakamaru, to grow milder. Rapanui: maruaki, to decay. Churchill 2. Maru a Pó in Tahiti was another [in addition to Ovakevake, Hiva and Maori] 'place where ákuáku supposedly lived before coming here'. Vanaga. The Maori used the same word for both solstices, marua-roa, 'long pit', and applied the term also to the month or season during which the Sun passed through its most northerly or southerly declination. A qualifying word such as takurua, 'winter', or o-rongo-nui, 'summer', was usually appended to denote which solstice was meant. When no explanatory word was added marua-roa seems to have signified the winter solstice... Makemson. Viti: malua, to go gently, to be in no hurry, by-and-by; vakamalua, gently. Churchill 2. Maruaki, to feel hungry, to be starving, hunger; he-topa te maruaki, to feel hungry. Vanaga. Maruaki, appetite, desire to eat, greedy, hunger, fasting, famine, weak from hunger, dearth, stavation; hakamaruaki, to starve; we note in Motu maro, famine, dearth. Churchill. Maruaki, to decay. Churchill 2. Marumaru, shady; ka-oho ki te kona marumaru, go in the shade. Vanaga. Marumaru, shade, thicket, somber, umbrella; koona marumaru, sheltered spot, copse; hakamaru, to cover with shade; hakamarumaru, to shade. P Pau.: hakamaru, to shadow. Mgv.: maru, shade, shadow, obscurity. Mq.: maú, shade, shadow, shelter. Ta.: maru, shade. Churchill.

The canoe-sail is also mamaru:

... In the Maori tongue the word ra denotes the sun, as it does, with some dialectic changes, throughout Polynesia, and as it did in Babylonia and Egypt. Komaru and mamaru also denote the sun, but are seldom heard. These three names are also applied to a canoe-sail, though one fails to see any connection between the two ... ... The end of the year seems to be denoted both by maru and maro - while feathers (maro) can signify the fiery aspect of the sun, maru signifies the shadowy aspect. No shadow without a fire ...

The domain of the moon, the shadowy, watery place is where life begins:

... This is the account, here it is. Now it still ripples, now it still murmurs, ripples, it still sighs, still hums, and it is empty under the sky. Here follows the first words, the first eloquence: There is not yet one person, one animal, bird, fish, crab, tree, rock, hollow, canyon, meadow, forest. Only the sky alone is there; the face of the earth is not clear. Only the sea alone is pooled under all the sky; there is nothing whatever gathered together. It is at rest; not a single thing stirs. It is held back, kept at rest under the sky. Whatever there is that might be is simply not there: only the pooled water, only the calm sea, only it alone is pooled. Whatever might be is simply not there: only murmurs, ripples, in the dark, in the night. Only the Maker, Modeler alone, Sovereign Plumed Serpent, the Bearers, Begetters are in the water, a glittering light. They are there, they are enclosed in quetzal feathers, in blue-green. Thus the name, 'Plumed Serpent'. They are great knowers, great thinkers in their very being. And of course there is the sky, and there is also the Heart of Sky. This is the name of the god, as it is spoken. And then came his word, he came here to the Sovereign Plumed Serpent, here in the blackness, in the early dawn. He spoke with the Sovereign Plumed Serpent, and they talked, then they thought, then they worried. They agreed with each other, they joined their words, their thoughts. Then it was clear, then they reached accord in the light, and then humanity was clear, when they conceived the growth, the generation of trees, of bushes, and the growth of life, of humankind, in the blackness, in the early dawn, all because of the Heart of Sky, named Hurricane, Thunderbolt Hurricane comes first, the second is Newborn Thunderbolt, and the third is Sudden Thunderbolt. So there were three of them, as Heart of Sky, who came to the Sovereign Plumed Serpent, when the dawn of life was conceived: 'How should the sowing be, and the dawning? Who is to be provider, nurturer?' 'Let it be this way, think about it: this water should be removed, emptied out for the formation of the earth's own plate and platform, then should come the sowing, the dawning of the sky-earth. But there will be no high days and no bright praise for our work, our design, until the rise of the human work, the human design,' they said. And then the earth arose because of them, it was simply their word that brought it forth. For the forming of the earth they said 'Earth'. It arose suddenly, just like a cloud, like a mist, now forming, unfolding. Then the mountains were separated from the water, all at once the great mountains came forth. By their genius alone, by their cutting edge alone they carried out the conception of the mountain-plain, whose face grew instant groves of cypress and pine. And the Plumed Serpent was pleased with this: 'It was good that you came, Heart of Sky, Hurricane, and Newborn Thunderbolt, Sudden Thunderbolt. Our work, our design will turn out well', they said ...