(Or the eclipse you have when you’re not having an eclipse.)
There may well have been better vantage points than the one I had, but I was neither able to see nor capture a shadow cast across the face of the Moon this morning.
You’ll not hear me complain about it though.
– ⋅ o ♥ o ⋅ –
I set my alarm before I headed off to bed last night. I’ll not say what time that was, nor will I say what time I actually got up this morning. I will say I did both much earlier than planned.
With a coffee in one hand and my camera in the other, a cozy blanket tucked over my knees and the silvery light of the Moon making the night seem day, I settled in for the next couple of hours. It wasn’t long before the official start time of the eclipse.
I waited, and then waited, and continued to wait some more, but I couldn’t see any darkening of our beautiful satellite.
If anything, it seemed to grow brighter. But that was most likely my eyes playing tricks on me. At different times and different zoom lengths, even my camera captured the Moon ‘looking’ different. (But I know this happens depending on how close I ‘zoom in’.)
The Moon looked beautiful as usual, but I was beginning to think I had my dates mixed up. I even grabbed my trusty smart phone and double-checked, quickly dispelled that minor doubt.
Having already said in my post three days ago that penumbral eclipses can be subtle affairs, I resigned myself to the fact that this was exactly that. A (very) subtle affair.
So at 5:30 am, six minutes past the point of maximum, I could have gone back to bed, but first light was approaching and the birds were singing and colour of the Moon changing slightly with more sunlight creeping over the horizon.
And as the Moon began to dip below my line of sight, I finally caught some shadows playing across its surface. ( 🙂 )
(I am being funny here.) It was just a eucalypt blocking my view.
I also had a couple of palm fronds in the way.
– ⋅ o ♥ o ⋅ –
So in the wee hours of this morning, I may not have seen what I got out of bed to see, but it was peaceful and serene sitting there bathed in the light of the Moon and listening to the sounds of the night.
By the time I stepped back inside, my coffee was long gone, my fingers bright pink from the chilly night air, and my memory card full of new photos to share.
Why is this full Moon referred to as the Strawberry Moon?
According to the Old Farmers Almanac, in most cases, the last full Moon of spring or the first full Moon of summer is traditionally called the Strawberry Moon. We are talking about the Northern Hemisphere where the Algonquin tribes in eastern North America, knew it as a signal to start gathering wild strawberries.
We don’t harvest strawberries at this time of year in my little pocket of the southern hemisphere.
Interestingly, Europeans call June’s full moon the Mead Moon, the Rose Moon and/or the Honey Moon. I like the sound of that – the Honey Moon 🐝