The Moon Was a Ghostly Galleon

"The wind was a torrent of darkness among the gusty trees,
The moon was a ghostly galleon tossed upon cloudy seas,
The road was a ribbon of moonlight over the purple moor,
As the highwayman came riding -- riding -- riding --
As the highwayman came riding, up to the old inn-door."
- from The Highwayman, by Alfred Noyes


The moon has been waxing full these past few nights, as late July starts to slide into August; and on Monday night it put on an impressive show. The evening was clear, and the moon was playing peekaboo through the leaves of a white oak tree in my front yard.

The night sky was like deep blue/black velvet, the air so soft you could almost touch it; and it was one of those perfect evenings where you think (and hope) that summer will never end. We watched in wonder from a pair of chairs placed in the very best vantage point in the front yard.

The oak tree seemed to be trying to capture the moon and hold it in its hands: a late-summer gift, perhaps -- a shining, magic, perfect pearl -- for the one it loves best.