Mike

It’s nearly light enough to read without artificial means this morning. Three o’clock is too early for some people, but for Aqaba, the Cat Unexpected, it’s a good time to be petted. It’s my fault, really, I woke up, felt a warm spot next to my leg, and reached down to see if he was okay. Purrs told me yes, then he got up and walked on top of me, laid down, and I could feel his purring in my chest. My heart and his, close together, our bodies sharing heat in the half lit room.

Wrex Wyatt came over to see if the cat was getting more pettings than he, and suddenly, I was fully awake.

Dogs and the cat get fed, I start coffee and breakfast for me, and then Budlore Amadeus, Jessica Elizabeth (Come Here!) and Aqaba Thomas, go into Mom’s room to sleep. Wrex Wyatt sleeps on my chair.

I go outside, because the full moon calls to me.

59 degrees will keep mosquitoes away, and the night air is calm, still, and the only noise is the sound of the clouds slipping across the sky, blocking the moonlight, then releasing the silver to coat the trees and the pond, once again.

I’m at the bottom of an ocean, it seems. The sky is a 3-D liquid world, the stars almost touchable, the moon just a half mile away, the clouds at my fingertips, and the world transformed into a snow globe of light and shadows.

One large cloud cast the net of its shadow over me, the house, and the trees. I watch as its edge rushes towards me, passes, and the moon shines hard enough for my shadow to play in the grass if it were noon.

I walk to the edge of the yard, and down the lane a bit, deer are standing, five or six whitetails, who sense me, by sight or smell, and they melt away.

A night bird of some sort, an owl likely, passes through the sky, gliding into the woods, death by talon, delivered by air mail, for some unwary rodent.

The moon moves through the sky, shadows dress in new angles, sharpening in some areas, blurring in another, the light cast between the tops of trees now, and slowly, the night sky darkens. The clouds ease away, if the moon is leaving, they will not stay, and the trees alone have the moonshine to play with now. The temperature drops a bit, and the stillness of the night has not long to live.

Back inside, with Wrex and coffee, I can feel the chill of the air in my clothes, feel the light of the moon on my face. The warmth of the house will evaporate it and it will be night again before I can replenish the feeling of the moon.

Take Care,

Mike

Mike writes regularly at The Hickory Head Hermit and we are fortunate to have him contribute to this site as well.