Monthly, I Adore You

My Friend, you have many names. Today, we call you Wolf Moon. Will you join me in a January howl echoing across the valley in the icy fog?

I waited until February, with no howl from you. The words Snow Moon now shimmer from your smile through crystalline granules, signaling frigid nights. Your enigmatic smile shines on me, sometimes before sunset. I love when you peek out from the curtains of sparkling snowflakes, but why do you ignore my pleas for warmth? Must you laugh and taunt me? Your iced-over dimples are charming, but they won't stop me from begging for spring.

As you rise, now the Worm Moon, the land warms. Robins on the damp grass nod a good day as you drift into sleep. Forgive me for the revelation that I prefer your colors in April, while you are the Pink Moon. Prancing across the sky, your face casts a rosy glow over fields of pink phlox and lupine. Stop being offended; can't I have preferences about your looks?

In May, your Flower Moon face shines halos of reflected light over the mountains and meadows. Dear Moon Pal, let's blend May and June and call it the Strawberry Flower Moon. Now, stop your pouting. Don't be cross. Show me those dimples that bring me joy in the night sky!

I love the brilliance of the Buck Moon, which lights up the forest in July, helping newly weaned creatures find their way.

Once you showed me how your favorite time is the Sturgeon Moon. August heat overwhelms, fishermen crowd the banks, and children play late into the night under your moonrays.

I lament Summer's warmth when harvest arrives, but the golden orbs you spin rising at dusk awes me. Hunter Moon brings dread, with sharp gunshots that hurt my ears and crack my heart, fearful for the creatures of the woods! Grant me a favor; transform this month to be Harmony Moon.

In November, traps are set, and beavers are hard at work. A better name than Beaver Moon would be Brethren Moon. Do you like it too? Tell me you do!

And in December, when the Cold Moon arrives, your golden glow becomes a ghostly white glare floating next to Pegasus. Now, my question is, (and I'm not teasing), why aren't you then called the Winged Horse Moon? Listen, we can make changes; names aren't set in stone.

I sense you're annoyed with my questions, but I need to ask another. What's your opinion of the idiom "once in a blue moon"? 

Hold on, come back out. You've wrapped yourself in the night's clouds. They didn't drift over you; I watched you pull them up like a blanket. How can I finish this if you won't respond? Let me make peace with you.

It is seven hours until dawn. I am patient. 

Copyright © 11/6/2025 by Andrea O. Corwin

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