Strawberry Moon

On a sunny southwest facing shoulder in the Hocking Hills, there stands a tall grove of chestnut oaks with sawbrier tangles at their roots, and heath beneath. Neatly nestled two-feet north of a beech sapling shoot for shade, there is a carefully placed indent in the crunchy Quercus detritus, holding two small spotted eggs and a whip-poor-will mother. She waits patiently for the strawberry moon to turn her eyes ruby red, and insect silhouettes to appear. She knows to lay her eggs in phase with the lunar cycle to ensure a bountiful crop for her feeding fledglings. 

The humid hemlock gorge below clings to an ancient Black Hand sandstone shelf, providing a breeding ground for easy eating served to her by the cool, evening updraft. A quirky, cryptic bird, this nightjar is filled with wisdom. She knows how to keep low to the ground, and to make use of her resources humbly. With a world of knowledge, it's no wonder why the Ute's named this species the God of night. Goddess of night, she is an old soul.