![](https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuj8zIF_Fwupe4Yt65N1fLLLTPvNQcaqC1Nx3pt261e20eiW7cjH8i22SyNo5KnxqphZzsWyZwscuc2i78kQnrxOm8EZ4iZ4KDzw4_8ES7blsrjfUdEQOcOFaJvi3-5lCWiFxoAAzszx8/s400/nightmoon.jpg)
Last night the spring peepers were calling, and it was warm enough to stand outside and take pictures of the moon. It reminded me of lines from "The Cloud," by Percy Bysshe Shelley.
That orbed maiden with white fire laden,
Whom mortals call the Moon,
Glides glimmering o'er my fleece-like floor,
By the midnight breezes strewn...