Tuesday night is library night.

Afterwards the two of us visit the community garden and wander down the narrow lanes between plots – micro farms bursting with growing things. Like any six-year-old, my companion is a know-it-all and loves to demonstrate her knowledge by naming various plants: “Peas.” “Corn.”  She crouches down and pushes aside leaves to show me the clusters of green orbs. “Tomatoes.”

As we tour the gardens a fat, full moon silently climbs up above the trees.  I point it out to my daughter. We stare at it for a while.  “What color is the moon?” she asks.

What color do you think it is?

“It looked pink.  Now it looks blue.”

A blue moon is a rare thing.  Make a wish.

“Will it come true?”

Maybe.