I expected him to be mesmerized like I was, to wonder about what on earth caused that, to be entranced...
But no. He stuck his head out the door (didn't even put his foot over the sill!) and dismissed it. 'It's a moonring, Jess. It means we have bad weather on the way.'
He went on to explain that it was high-altitude ice crystals in the air that caused this, and I let his (perfectly reasonable! scientifically sound! correct!) explanation wash over me.
I was too busy looking at the spilt milk in the sky.
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And tonight, as the wind whips the trees around and my daughter rustles in her bed (the wind wakes her, she'll pad into my room soon enough) I know his reasoning was all well and good.
But I still like to think up there, high above our heads, there's a flying bovine searching for her lost bucket, annoyed at herself for kicking it over again.