When the moon shines as it did last night, I am filled with unrest and the urge to range valleys and climb mountains. I want vistas of moonlit country from high places, must see the silver of roaring rapids and sparkling lakes. At such times I must escape houses and towns and all that is confining, be part of the moon-drenched landscape and its continental sweep. It is only when the moon is full that I feel this way, only when it rises as it did last night, round and mellow as a great orange cheese over the horizon, slow-moving and majestic.
A quarter moon or a half or even a three-quarter moon does not do this this to me, but when it is full my calm is gone and common things seem meaningless. All life is changed when the moon is full. Dogs howl madly when it comes into view and wolves make the hills resound with their wild music. Fish feed and throw themselves out of the water in sheer exuberance. Birds take to the air and sing in the glory of its light. Larger forms of game embark on galloping expeditions over their range. Under the full moon life is all adventure.
MOON MAGIC || Sigurd Olson from The Singing Wilderness
