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I was there for the moon rise this evening, golden orange, huge and round as its edge slipped over the crest of the hills, making silhouettes of the trees against the sky. It rose, a perfect circle, its lower edge touching the top of the hill.

I had put too much hay behind the barn for the sheep this morning. The custom is, four bales of hay outside, baleage outside as well, and ten bales, or so, inside, evenings, to encourage them to come in. Instead I had put seven outside, as well as one in the barn proper, and two on the upper level to feed out to the goats. This evening there was still hay left that I had tossed outside from the second story window. And so the full hayracks and feeders in the barn were of no temptation to them.

It is expected to be zero degrees tonight. The sky is nearly cloudless. I didn't want any of the still pregnant ewes to decide to freshen outside on the neat piles of dry straw, in a sheltered corner, away from everyone. To them, a perfect choice. Four lambs first saw the light of day there, two days ago. But it was twenty degrees warmer. One suffered. The other three did not. Apparently, that is. I brought them all in with their dams and penned them. The littlest, the one who suffered the cold was then routinely thrown against the wall of the pen. His mother didn't like him. I took his temperature. Tube fed him. Bottled him and left him to his reluctant dam and pretty sister. He'll make it. I've already found a home for him. A spinner will take him. He shall live.

I called the sheep in, and they came. As one they rose to their feet from the nice thick cushion of bedding. And came. Single file. Into the well-lit, warm barn for the night. It was then that I had seen a glimpse of the upper-most edge of the moon. I stood for awhile. The night was still. The air crisp and clean and cold. I leaned against a gate post. I was there for the moon rise this evening.

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