“It’s a strawberry moon,” Suzy texted me. She couldn’t see it yet from where she was, but I had just come in from closing up the chicken coop and saw the first light from the moon glowing over the tops of the trees on the edge of the pasture.
I watched the light turn to a full circle as it cleared the tree tops, a warm yellow with pale gray mountains and craters. Even with all that light, I could see a sprinkling of stars. The sheep started to bray. Frist, a single baa, then in a chorus of them.
Of course, they wanted to graze under the stars in the moonlight.
I’d closed the gate earlier in the evening after they had their two hours to eat. But now their song followed me to the gate as I opened it again.
At that moment, I wished I were a sheep, so I too could graze in the moonlight. Instead, I went into the house, took Jon by the arm as if we were walking down the aisle, and showed him the moon through the window on the back door.
He was still outside, taking pictures of the Strawberry Moon when I went up to bed.