The last full moon of spring (and the closest to the summer solstice) is a big orange ball peeking through the trees in the west. So low in the sky this time of year that it barely clears the treetops all night, the June moon always seems a bit remote, rather like a person lost in some fantasy. This year, it had the slightly hazy sky almost to itself. No discernable clouds caught its light and few stars could compete with its brightness. There was only that soft glow filling the jasmine-scented night, and the occasional hoot of an owl. Now, the approaching dawn reveals the lawn strewn with rose petals, and the morning birds begin to chirp. The Full moon blithely slips below the horizon, self absorbed to the last.