What is free, and what does the license open?

A whole month is free: plant, tend and harvest under tonight's real moon, cross-pollinate, send flowers, and name your first constellation — that first sky stays yours, licensed or not. The license keeps the sky going after that: every naming after the first, the observatory with its almanac pages, the exporters (the sky poster, the constellation card and the month film), and the grimoire — seven pages of moon practice whose tables arrive the first time a licensed device opens the book online, then live on the device. Everything you made in the demo carries over.

What happens if I stop for a month?

Nothing dies. The Lunation has no streaks and keeps no score against you. A garden left quiet simply waits, and when you return it greets you — it never scolds.

Does it need internet or an account?

No account, no subscription — and no server ever sees what you write. Unlocking touches the internet once, sending only an anonymous install id; after install it runs fully offline and the moon's position is computed locally from a built-in ephemeris.

Everything you write stays on your device — the game itself has no analytics, trackers, or accounts, and never will. This sales page (not the game) counts anonymous visits and clicks so we can tell whether anyone finds it; if you send a flower grown on the sales page, the word you grew is counted with the send — a flower sent from inside the game is never seen. Your order (name, email, order id) is kept privately so your key can be sent and reissued. Unlocking records an anonymous install id to honor the three-device promise; it never includes your words, and if that server is ever unreachable the game unlocks anyway.

What exactly am I buying?

One payment for the whole game on up to three of your devices. No upsells, no expiring code, nothing further to pay.

Not for you if you want streaks, daily reminders, or a score that says how you are doing — The Lunation keeps no score and never nags. Not for you if you want mood charts and pattern analysis; it grows flowers rather than measuring you. And not for you if you need your writing synced through an account on a server — it stays on your device, which also means you move it between devices yourself.

tonight · the moon · as it really is

a moon journaling game

a moon-garden for your intentions

plant a wish under tonight's real moon — the same one over your house right now. tend it when you feel like it. at the close of the month, harvest it into a constellation with its own song.

new · the grimoire — seven pages of real moon practice, printed for tonight's sky

Plant a wish — open the demo Buy once — $5

runs in your browser · nothing to install · your first month is free

the botany is fixed · the words are yours

Plant a word. See what it becomes.

the real game, running here. the same word grows the same flower in every garden on earth — and no two words grow the same one. grow one you like and send it: every flower you send is a living link. it blooms in their browser — no app, no account — and the garden arrives with it.

five words, five species — tap one to grow it

filmed from the game — a joke, a keyboard mash, a single letter, all bloomed with equal sincerity. nobody drew these; the words did — and the machine does not rank your words.

the letter · one per moon

Want the new moon to find you?

leave an email and the studio writes once per lunation — on the new moon, the night a fresh month opens and a wish can be planted. that is the whole list: no other mail, and every letter carries a one-click way out.

new · what the license opens

The grimoire. An old book with correct arithmetic.

the newest room of the game: seven pages of moon practice, each computed from a real ephemeris on your device and checked against the observatory record. the doctrine is old; the math is not folklore. the garden is free — the license opens this book, the observatory, the exporters, and every naming after the first.

no two nights print the same page.

eight nights, eight editions — filmed from the game's own press. every plate is the real book, printing tonight's sky.

moon sign: the sign the moon actually stands in tonight
the 28 mansions: Agrippa's lunar mansions — the night's mansion, by name
void-of-course: the hours the old almanacs said to let pass
the dark moon: the sliver nights the old calendars kept apart from the new
folk moon names: what this full moon was called before it had a date
moon water & hours: moonrise and set at your sky · planetary hours to steep by
biodynamic days: root, leaf, flower, fruit — the planting calendar the moon writes

computed on your device · checked against JPL Horizons & the USNO · the tables travel with your license

the observatory and the exporters, from the same shelf:

open the demo — your first month of the garden is free

lunessence · cross-pollination · real punnett squares

The genetics are real. Mendel would recognize the math.

tend a garden for seasons and it starts to show. lunessence — heritable traits a flower carries: opal dew, a gold-leaf rim, a floating crown. not a score. a soil that deepens.

call the bees and show them the blooms you want crossed — two, or as many as you like. they carry it to the pollen pack on the soil, which sparkles once it is charged; tap it to read what the pollen holds. your next intention inherits it — a real punnett square, not a loot table. two plain-looking flowers can both hide the same recessive trait, and one seed in four blooms it.

two carriers of dew, neither showing it. the bees cross them; three seedlings in four look plain, and the fourth wakes up wearing opal. the same inheritance your biology teacher drew on the board — which is why a trait you breed out of hiding feels earned, and why no two long-kept gardens ever match.

the sky writes the rarest ones. a cross on the night of a real eclipse carries umbra, a dark limb across the petals. nothing else makes it.

fourteen months tended · every harvest hangs overhead

The sky fills with the months you keep.

each harvested month becomes a constellation you name — Back Roads, The Deep Cold, Her Voice. this is one real garden after a year of tending: five flowers below, fourteen named months above. none of it is stock art — the game drew every star of it.

A full Lunation garden: five bloomed flowers and a firefly jar under the moon and a sky of fourteen named constellations — filmed from the game — the whole sky, nothing cropped

and every one of those months plays. at the harvest, the constellation performs itself for the first time — composed from your month, not chosen from a library — and the same month always sounds the same.

a real month · 37 notes · pentatonic · harvested as “The Quiet Turning”

how a wish grows

The moon keeps the calendar. You just show up sometimes.

🌑plant

name an intention on any night. it roots under the moon that is actually up there.

🌒tend

come back when you come back. your notes shape the bloom — tone, struggle, return.

🌕watch

every flower grows from your month, not a template. no two gardens are alike.

🌘harvest

the month seals into a constellation, with a song composed from how you lived it.

The month in writing — planted intentions and every note left on them — the month in writing — what you planted, and every note you left it

The almanac — what the moon is about to do, and when to expect it — the almanac — what the moon is about to do, and when to expect it

no streaks · no guilt · nothing dies

Habit apps keep score against you. This one doesn't keep score at all.

miss a day in a streak app and the number you were proud of is gone. that's the mechanic, and it's why they get deleted in february. this one doesn't count days. come back after two silent months and it says: it waited for you.

no account, no subscription, no server. your wishes stay on your device.

what people say about moon apps · not this one

The moon apps people quit.

real App Store reviews of other moon and journaling apps — not reviews of The Lunation. they are why this game is $5 once, offline, and keeps no score.

“I lovedddd this app when I first got it…but then they slowly started coming out with more things to pay for…seemingly more than half the meditations are locked!!”
App Store review · Moonly

“$9.00 a month for an ai astrology service is insane. If it were perhaps $2.99…it would be completely reasonable”
App Store review · Co–Star

“they stoppepd supporting it and I lost literally every entry”
App Store review · Day One

so: nothing here gets locked later, the file is yours even if this studio vanishes, and the only thing this game keeps is the garden — never a score against you.

what's inside

Small on purpose. Deep on purpose.

the grimoire · new

seven pages of moon practice with real arithmetic under them — see the book.

the real sky

tonight's actual phase, computed on your device. a blue moon is rare here because blue moons are rare.

a song per month

each harvest composes its own piece — your month, replayable whenever you like.

constellations

harvests become named star-shapes. export a poster of a year you actually lived.

send flowers

send a grown wish as a living link — it arrives already in bloom.

personas

long skies earn names: the runner, the returner, the decade sky.

lunessence

earned heritable rarity. bees gather pollen from the blooms you pick; the next planting inherits it.

the almanac

pressed pages for what you've met and witnessed — never for what you haven't.

offline after install

works with no signal, exports everything. a file you own, not a service you rent.

after you buy

What lands in your inbox.

first

a personalized welcome file arrives by email, with your name on it.

then

open its link, or paste the code into the game. that's the whole install.

after

add it to your home screen. it runs offline from then on, on up to three devices.

The welcome file a buyer receives, with a personalized greeting and an unlock code — a real welcome file — the code here is blanked out

before you decide

Fair questions.

What is free, and what does the license open?: a whole month is free — plant, tend, harvest, cross-pollinate, send flowers, and name your first constellation. that first sky stays yours, licensed or not. the license keeps it going: every naming after the first, the observatory and almanac, the exporters, and the grimoire — its tables arrive from our shelf the first time a licensed device opens the book online, then live on your device like everything else.
What happens if I stop for a month?: nothing dies. no streaks, no score. a garden left quiet waits, and greets you when you come back.
Does it need internet or an account?: no account, ever. unlocking touches the internet once — after install it runs fully offline. your wishes stay on your device, and the moon is computed locally.
What exactly am I buying?: the whole game, on up to three devices. no upsells, no expiring code, nothing further to pay.
Who is this not for?: not for you if you want streaks, daily reminders, or a number that says how you're doing — this keeps no score and will never nag you. not for you if you want mood charts and pattern analysis; it grows flowers, it doesn't measure you. and not for you if you need your writing synced through an account on someone's server — it stays on your device, which also means you carry it between devices yourself.

buy once · yours to keep

One payment. No subscription. No account.

recommended

$5 once

every month after the first, named and kept
the grimoire — seven pages of the real sky
the observatory and every exporter
works on up to 3 of your devices
fully offline after install · never expires

Buy once — $5

secure checkout by Stripe · one-time $5 · no account created
offline after install · works on 3 of your devices

already own it? open the link from your welcome file,
or open the game and paste your code.

plainly

What we know about you.

Your writing: stays on your device. no analytics, no trackers, no account — nothing you plant, water, or harvest ever leaves your browser. the game never tracks you, and never will.
Your order: checkout runs on Stripe or Etsy — they handle payment and we never see card numbers. we keep your name, email, and order id privately, so your key can be sent and reissued if you lose it. that is the whole record.
Unlocking: touches our server once, with an anonymous install id — never your words — to honor the three-device promise. if that server is ever unreachable, the game unlocks anyway.
This sales page: this page — the one you are reading — counts anonymous visits and clicks, so we can tell whether anyone finds it. one exception is spelled out: if you grow a word here and click send this flower, the send is counted together with the word you grew — the word is the whole message. a word typed but never sent leaves nothing. all of it is a shop-window measurement and it stops at the shop window: it is not in the game, it never sees a wish, a flower sent from inside the game stays between you and whoever receives it, and once the game is yours this page does not follow you home.
The moon letter: only if you ask for it. leave an email in the letter box and we keep that address, where you left it, and when — nothing else — and write once per new moon. every letter carries a one-click way out, and taking it deletes the address.