The full moon lit up my sky last night, which was cloudless and star-filled.
My daughter tells me of my grandson trying to water the moon. He loves the moon, stories of rockets going to the moon. “Moooon. Moooon,” he croons.
“Moon,” he says, holding his watering can. “Water.”
She tries to explain that the moon is too far away to water. It’s way high in the sky, above the clouds.
He’s not even two years old yet. What does he care.
He stands on his tip-toes, lifts his arm with his watering can, positions himself at just the right spot in his perspective, and waters the moon.