Thumbing through Facebook today, I came across a post by a fellow poet linking a photo taken from the internet of the moon not too far west of where I live. The small news article mentioned the August full moon is the smallest, farthest full moon. I did not know that, but might have figured it out. As much as we poets do and do not write about the moon, it plays into our lives on a daily basis.
Two nights ago my sister called to visit. We had some unsolved world problems to sort through, analyse and solve. Not a problem — we had some quiet evening hours available. I sat out on my deck and watched my pups keep watch over the bunnies hiding underneath my shed and she sat at her kitchen table twenty miles away from me, looking out her window at her sheep pastures.
We could talk and solve problems until her flock of sheep became agitated. Sometimes they do that –just as my pups do. Unexplained agitation happens, we agreed. I asked her why she thought her sheep would get riled while we were talking. Check the moon she said. How can the moon tug on all the water in all our oceans and not tug on sheep and bears, coyotes and bobcats, husbands and tired children?
As we were talking, my Blackberry phone beeped. I had an incoming email from our brother (Hewhowaits) who live across the divide from us. He was on a moonlight ride and wanted to let us know the animals were out in force. Bear, mule deer bucks, moose, elk and . . . as he snapped the photo — a wolf pack howling at said moon.
None of us knew, though, that this August moon is known as the green corn moon until I read the Facebook comment today.
Photos by Hewhowaits O’Keefe