Tall oak trees stretch into shadows. Long shadows that sweep all the way down the hill, and across the yard. Giant shadows from towering trees.
The white light of the moon, though, finds its way past the shadows and scatters its magic. Its matte cottony glow blankets the leafy ground, reaches up into the house, and comes to rest on the window sill in front of me.
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A full moon on a clear winter night, after the trees have dropped their leaves, has its own special charm. One I’ve never captured well in a picture. The ground was so white I thought we had a fresh round of snowfall.