Shouldn't…but Do

Watching the midnight moon do a silhouette tango with a  grove of trees I had not before noticed.

Tall, swaying, reaching.  Following them branch to base, had to laugh.  They are my trees, quaking aspens, planted from slender sticks years ago, now long above the roofline.

Populus tremuloides, known for their sensitive hearing and responsive nodding to notes on the wind.  Archaic associations with the regenerative cycle of the moon itself.  Folks of that ilk always find favor with me.

The music ended,  the moon glided on, leaving the trees to their onward stretch to the stars.