Morning has Broken, 8

You have not experienced a full moon until you've spent the night with one in the country.

Here at Busy Solitude Farm we put little store in curtains.  Oh, there are some in the living room where the strong summer sunshine would otherwise bake all stay-at-home inhabitants.  But generally speaking we enjoy looking out into the world.

Except when the world intrudes in.  

Last night's full moon was as bright as the sun on a heavily overcast day.  Dark shadows danced across the yard, the side of my house glowed.  Wait, you say.  How do you know what the outside of the house looked like?

Both last night and the night before, I was awakened around 1:00 am by frantic crowing from the barn.  Not the occasional cock-a-doodle-doo that one hears on any given night, but a constant, frenzied crowing.  The most memorable time in my life that I heard this type of crowing was at my old house with my old chickens when their heat lamp had fallen off its hook and smoke was billowing out the coop door.  This is serious crowing.

So both last night and the night before, I pulled my sorry butt out of my cozy warm bed, found random socks and jeans and sweaters, hoped I grabbed my barn sneakers, and trekked out to the barn to investigate.

And both last night and the night before, I found Spot perched up high, head thrown back, crowing his ever-loving heart out.  When I enter the barn, he looks at me as if to say "hey, are you up, too?"

That, my friends, is how I happened to see what my house looks like in the late night full moon.  Sorry that I did not have camera in hand.  Tonight we are in line for rain.  No full moon anticipated.  But just in case....