# Also a supermoon

        _..._     
      .'     `.    
     :         :    FULL MOON
     :         :  
     `.       .'  
       `-...-'
The Beaver Moon rises, round and resolute,
brimming with the hush of leafless woods.
She wears the cloak of cold rivers and early frost,
a lantern lit for the long descent into winter.

Tonight, she is larger - closer
a supermoon swelling the skys quiet chest,
pulling at lakes, at blood, at memory.
She watches over waters where beavers weave,
where instinct sharpens like teeth on bark,
and shelters are made against the cold to come.

She is the keeper of preparation,
the moon of labor and last harvest,
of stories spoken low beside the fire.
A silver sentinel in a darkening world,
asking nothing
yet reminding us:
be ready.