At about 10 p.m. on Thursday evening, October 17, I took Hank outside for his last leg-lifting of the day. (Yes, Hank is a dog, not a grandchild.)
It was a clear night. In fact, there had not been a cloud in the sky all day and maybe all week.
As I waited for Hank to do his business, I was “moon-struck.” It was a full moon, which I have seen time and again for over 80 years, but this one seemed different; it was larger than I had ever seen it, or so it seemed.
And it was magnificent in its quiet, silver dominance of everything else in the heavens. If I were a coyote, I’d have been howling for sure.
