Tonight a nightjar, male, flew by on buoyant wings and landed on a bare branch against the fat white moon. There, a short distance from us, he sang and my group quite silent understood why I squelch through wet nights in search of wildlife.
Mary pointed out the faintest outline of the new moon, no doubt the reason for the previous night's ceremony and dancing, and when I remarked that in England it curves the opposite way, she replied, 'You have wrong-way rubbish moon.'
Wildwood, A Journey Through Trees
Luna lunita lunera
Cascabelera bendita seas
Vení alumbra este andaluz
Que viene cargando esta cruz