We had an almost full moon the other night.
We saw it low on the horizon, full and heavy over the trees,
reflecting orange in the darkening sky.
In the car the next morning,
we saw it again, ever so faint—ever so pale
against a strand of cloud low in the light blue sky.
Said the six-year-old, “The moon fainted!”
Took us a minute—which allowed her to say again,
“The moon’s fainting!”
And we celebrated the magic of language,
and those learning language
who hear what accustomed ears do not.