Sturgeon Moon

The Sturgeon Moon Ride, from Lilly’s View

The tall one came to fetch me just as the sun was sinking. I was standing in the field thinking about hay, as usual, when she slipped the halter over my ears. She looked excited, almost buzzing, which usually means we are going somewhere. I sighed and went along. It is easier that way. Besides, I like her.

Soon we were out with the smaller one, Eryca, who always smells kind and scratches the good spot on my neck. I was glad she came. If I am being honest, I would have been just as content to stay in the field, but humans get so much joy out of these adventures that it seems silly not to humor them.

The evening was warm, the sky turning pink above the trees. Birds grew quiet as other voices woke. Crickets, frogs, and owls started their music, and it wrapped around us as we walked. The humans kept talking about how beautiful it was. I suppose they were right. I mostly listened to the sounds and flicked my ears at them.

We tried one path first, but branches blocked the way. I was not disappointed to turn around. Then we went another direction through soft grass and into open fields. The stars came out. The moon climbed higher. The humans seemed especially moved by that. I could not quite understand the fuss, but I admit the silver light felt peaceful on my coat.

We splashed through the creek. The water shimmered with tiny lights that danced each time my hooves touched. That was nice. I flicked my ears again and thought, well, this is not hay, but it has its charm.

On the way back, they asked me for a canter across the lawn. I obliged, stretching into the smooth stride they always praise. The tall one seemed delighted. The moon hung above us, round and glowing, and for a moment I almost felt it too.

Back at the barn, I thought about how far I had come from the broodmare field. Then, I only stood and waited, season after season, with no one caring about what I saw or felt. Now there are people who laugh, who scratch my neck, who take me into the night just to share something they think is beautiful.

I still think hay is better. But I will admit, under that moon, with Eryca nearby and the feed lady smiling, it was not a bad way to spend an evening.

Poem

The halter slipped on as the field grew dim,
I followed her when she brought me in.
Eryca smiled, her hands were kind,
The night ahead not yet on my mind.

The sun sank low, the voices stirred,
Crickets sang and night birds whirred.
Humans whispered of beauty near,
I flicked my ears, content to hear.

A path was blocked, we turned aside,
Into the fields so silver wide.
The stars awoke, the moon climbed high,
Its cool light brushed across my hide.

The creek was glass, then broke in rings,
Each hoof-step cast a trail of wings.
Water danced and shimmered bright,
As if the moon had split its light.

They asked for more, I gave them speed,
A canter swift across the green.
Their laughter rose, so light, so clear,
I carried them, as they cheered.

I thought of hay, my truest song,
But felt their joy and went along.
A broodmare once, unseen, confined,
Now silver moon and stars are mine.

The world was still, the night was true,
And for a breath, I felt it too.