|The moon stands guard over our sheep.
Summer nights seem almost magical on our farm
. A stillness settles in as the sun goes down behind the mountains leaving only a trace of pink in the sky. Only the sound of a ewe calling to her lamb can be heard or the call of the Barred owl on the edge of the dark woods. “Who cooks for you?” calls the owl from his perch in the old maple trees as if wanting me to respond. Sometimes the silence is broken by the eerie howl of coy dogs in the far distance, llama perks her ears and looks into the distance. Then lighting bugs begin to sparkle on the lawn, first here and then there. Their glow inviting you to try to run and catch them before they disappear again into the darkness. As the darkness creeps in, stars fill the sky on clear nights, countless stars forming their pictures on the horizon. When the moon is full and round, high in the sky, it casts shadows along the edges of the fields and yard, enveloping the farm and sheep
in its peacefulness. The moon follows me where ever I go, hanging high on the branches of the maple trees, or perching daintily on the tip of a tall pine, or standing guard over our sheep in the meadow. I want to linger long outside, taking in all the magic, enjoying the summer night.
The Freedom of the Moon
|Sheep enjoy grazing under the moonlight.
by Robert Frost
I’ve tried the new moon tilted in the air
Above a hazy tree-and-farmhouse cluster
As you might try a jewel in your hair.
I’ve tried it fine with little breadth of luster,
Alone, or in one ornament combining
With one first-water star almost shining.
I put it shining anywhere I please.
By walking slowly on some evening later,
I’ve pulled it from a crate of crooked trees,
And brought it over glossy water, greater,
And dropped it in, and seen the image wallow,
The color run, all sorts of wonder follow.