The orchard sky was still dark, true night, no hint of light.
It was good Friday. The Pink Moon had risen two nights before, the same day Artemis II launched.
By then, the Orion spacecraft had already passed around the far side of the moon and was on its return trip home.
The moon hung bright, its face washed out by reflected sun. I carried a red-light lantern to preserve my night vision as I moved between the rows.
Mist lingered in the air amplifying the moonlight. Fog season nearing its end, humidity taking its place. The air was still.
As my eyes adjusted, the crickets formed a chorus, many voices blending into one. A rooster broke through, announcing what had not yet arrived.
The orchard became a world of silhouettes.
Peach branches etched themselves against the sky. Palms in the neighboring field, usually overlooked, stood in sharp relief, fronds fanned out like blackened feathers.
In the discard pile sat a full tree that had been removed from the orchard. A loss from the freeze.
Its bare limbs now the home of spiders.
At the far edge of the field where there had only been dirt before, something had changed. The ground was covered, but indistinct.
Small points of light dotted the surface. It was like nothing I had ever seen before, and I paused for a moment to observe.
Up close the shape reveled itself – sunflowers. Large waxy leaves holding dew. Each droplet catching the moonlight, reflecting it back in fragments.
What my eyes perceived, my camera could not quite hold.
With so little light, my camera hit its maximum ISO of 25,600. The result rendered the dew drops almost like bioluminescence, a green glow.
Astronomical dawn came quietly, the first hints of blue on the horizon. With it came the mosquitoes. I was their prey.
The stars caught my attention as I looked up. To my eyes they were white, to my camera they fractured into colors of white, yellow, blue, green, and purple.
The moon held its place as the sky shifted. With nautical dawn cam warmth, subtle at first.
The crickets quieted, all but one insistent voice chirping loudly in a bush.
The color.
Oranges and pinks spread along the horizon. Near the moon, the sky a deep royal blue.
At the midpoint in the sky between day and night, cool blues collided with pinks and oranges, both holding equal ground. A moment hung in balance.
Then movement.
The birds started to awake. First crows, then the turkeys. A kettle of swallow-tailed kites circled overhead as the light strengthened.
I stayed through golden hour, watching the familiar return.
My body beginning to tire.