The Strawberry Moon was riveting. I gaped at the sight through binoculars, and the brilliant searchlight stared back at my wondering eyes. The orb hovered in the summer sky, a sight both comfortingly familiar and eternally mysterious. The landscape was ancient, great lava plains barren save for imaginary echoes. Astronomers of Old fancied them to be seas, and named them as such. "Sea of Crisis. Sea of Tranquility. Sea of Clouds." But there's nothing there, except for the loneliness and cooled basalt.
The night breeze rustled the holly tree behind me, and grew to a chorus in the nearby forest. Unseen animals rummaged through the dry leaves, and the night was alive, brimming with potential, restless in the fresh air. Luna gazed down, and I stood in the dewy grass, awestruck.
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